


Devil's Trill

by feelslikefire



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Anal Sex, Angel & Demon Interactions, Angst, BDSM, Blindfolds, Dom/sub Play, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-11-04 14:59:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 54,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10993290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feelslikefire/pseuds/feelslikefire
Summary: When Victor Nikirofov finds an angel wandering lonely through the edge of his realm in Hell, he makes the boy an offer. Yuuri, who has his own reasons for being far from Heaven's light, finds it a hard bargain to refuse. An angel & demon BDSM au.





	1. Larghetto affettuoso

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! Please heed the tags if you are reading this. I wanted to write gratuitous feels-heavy porn so HERE IT IS. There is **NO** non-con in this fic, but there IS a lot of other kinky stuff, which I will tag/warn for as we hit it. There's dub-con really only if you squint, but I felt it prudent to mention it just in case. Tags for specific sex stuff will be updated as the fic is posted. 
> 
> For reference, demons & angels in this fic are more fantastical species than metaphysical beings. This AU owes much to the lovely melly, who helps inspire & encourage me every day.
> 
> Thanks as always to my endlessly patient beta circ_bamboo for her keen proofreading and patience with my abuse of various adjectives. Thanks for reading!

Victor has been watching this one for awhile.

The boy—the angel, rather—is slim, lovely, and utterly alone. Usually when Heaven’s children traverse the outskirts of Hell, they travel in packs: safety in numbers, and so on. A handful of times, Victor has seen an angel traveling alone, but always before the angel was fearsome and carrying a flaming sword, or wreathed in the mysteries of the Most High. 

In short, they’ve always been far too many or too dangerous for Victor to ever approach. If he wants to keep his hide in one piece, anyway. 

But not this angel. This one is alone, and Victor is intrigued.

Victor’s manor house is in one of the more far-flung fields of the nether world, closer to the overlap with the human world. He detected the lone angel’s presence a few hours ago, and came to see what brought one of his holy cousins down this way. Unlike many of Victor’s kind, Victor has nothing interesting or particularly worthy of divine punishment in his recent past: no murders, no tormenting of star-crossed lovers, no corruption of heroic leaders. He hasn’t even kicked any puppies. 

That being said, angels don’t necessarily need a reason to want to exact retribution on demons, in Victor’s experience. So while he’s not expecting a hunter, he does take care to wrap himself in darkness before he traipses out to the edges of the field. 

From his vigil, though, he doesn’t think he has much to worry about. The boy’s not a hunter; he’s too aimless and unfocused for that. He’s also not nearly well-enough armed. He’s just in the traveling clothes that messenger angels wear on long journeys, although it’s looking a bit tattered at the edges. And there’s something strangely mournful about him, about the way he moves. His head hangs, and instead of the unbowed stride characteristic of the host of heaven, this boy walks as though he’s carrying some great but invisible weight across his shoulders.

(“Boy” is the word Victor’s using in his head, although he of course doesn’t know how old or young this angel is. Angels as a species are as immortal as demons, of course. But right now he seems very bereft of the glory of his kin.)

His melancholia and shabby clothing do nothing to diminish his beauty, however. From the copse of trees where he’s blended into the shadows, Victor lets himself admire the boy’s slender limbs, his dark hair and perfect skin, the sense of hidden depths. He’s also positively _leaking_ heaven’s light, like a small but brilliant beacon in the dark. 

Other demons will be drawn here by the heavenly light; Victor was merely the first to arrive because the angel was crossing his property. And this lovely creature will all too soon find out why—when they are foolish enough to cross through the fields of the damned—his fellows travel either in packs, or heavily armed.

Victor watches him trudge along, some unidentifiable emotion pulsing through him. He has no particular love for angels, but neither does he wish to antagonize the angelic host. In fact, it’s been a very long time since Victor gave a damn about—much of anything, really. But something about this boy sticks in his mind, like a burr clinging to a wool coat. Victor should really just leave him to his fate, or at most, scare the foolish child off. 

Instead, he creeps closer, then closer still. There’s something strange about this angel, something different that he can’t quite place—it almost seems as if he’s missing his wings. Angels can hide their wings, of course, just as demons can hide their horns and tails, so Victor can’t be completely sure. But he wants to find out.

And what was it Christophe said to him the other day? _You should get another pet, Victor. Something to occupy you!_

Maybe I will, Victor thinks.

* * * * *

Yuuri is so tired.

It’s been almost a year since he left the golden fields. Most of that time has been spent wandering through the human world, trying to stay inconspicuous, unnoticed. But Yuuri hasn’t been able to stay in one place for very long—too nervous, too restless, too heartsick. So he’s somehow wandered very far beyond anywhere an angel should be, and now he’s found himself in this empty, lonesome place.

The sun isn’t shining here. It’s not night-dark, exactly; more like extremely heavy cloud cover, a sky broody with the promise of rain. Yuuri doesn’t mind the darkness so much as he’s nervous about the fact that he has no idea where he is.

Or rather, he has an idea. He’s just very much hoping he’s wrong.

Wherever he is, he’s been walking for _hours_. Yuuri glances around, sees a thick copse of trees off to his right and starts to head towards them. He gets within about twenty meters of them before abruptly recognizing one of the trees—or rather, the large black spot on its side. The realization that he’s been walking in circles hits him like a physical blow, and he crumples, sinking to his knees and putting his face in his hands.

“Oh, my,” says a voice, from quite nearby. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen an angel cry.”

Yuuri startles, trying to get up and succeeding only in toppling over. His gaze fall on a tall figure, standing just a few feet away, clad in an elegant red and black suit, with silver hair and brilliant blue eyes.

“Don’t come near me!” Yuuri scrambles to his feet, backing hastily away and holding out a hand before him. The light inside him flares, making him glow and brightening the dim field. 

The man—the _demon_ —winces, lifting an arm to shade his face. But instead of smiting Yuuri with dark magic, he wrinkles his nose and says, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. It’s just going to attract more attention, and this isn’t really the place for that, is it?”

Yuuri flushes, scowling at the demon. “Don’t act as if you’re trying to help me,” he snaps.

The demon arches one elegant eyebrow and actually smiles. “If I wanted to hurt you instead, wouldn’t it have been easier when you were curled up on the ground crying?”

That sets Yuuri back. He hesitates, just for a moment, his righteousness dimming. The demon does nothing, just watches him calmly. Finally Yuuri relents, stepping back and looking at the ground, embarrassed somehow by the weight of those brilliant eyes. 

It’s foolish to take his eyes off a demon, he knows. But not the stupidest thing he’s done lately, by a long shot. “I have no quarrel with you,” he says shortly. “Leave me be, and I w-won’t trouble you.”

“You’re a very long way from home to be going for a simple walk,” says the demon. His voice is deceptively mild, but Yuuri isn’t fooled; he knows a query when he hears one. 

“I got lost,” he says. 

“I see,” says the demon. He says nothing for several moments, long enough that Yuuri lifts his eyes again. The demon is watching him with an inscrutable expression, making it impossible to guess what he’s thinking. It makes Yuuri uneasy. 

“Well,” says the demon at length, “far be it from _me_ to tell an angel what path they should walk, but perhaps I can shed some illumination on your current situation.” The demon’s mouth quirks at his own pun. Yuuri suffers twin surges of the same emotion: irritation at the demon’s smug self-confidence, and irritation at himself for being unable to ignore how handsome the damned creature is when he smiles like that. 

“You are alone in one of the far fields of Hell, and you are leaking holy light. Every infernal creature within ten leagues of here can sense you: a wingless angel, far from heaven and utterly alone.”

Yuuri blanches. Immediately, light flares in his hands and face again, and the demon flinches and covers his face once more. “I’m not wingless,” Yuuri says tightly. 

The demon squints at him, attempting to shade his eyes with his hand. “Is that so,” he says. “Is there some other reason you’re still here, then? I understand Hell is easy to fly over, but you’ll never cross it walking like you have been.”

Yuuri’s face goes hot, for reasons that have nothing to do with the holy fire simmering in his hands. He tries to hide his reaction, but it’s too late. He glares at the demon, considering just blasting him with holy fire out of spite, but—that’s not something an angel should do.

Not that he has any right to use that metric anymore.

He drops his hands, and the light fades. The demon straightens again, and for a moment he and Yuuri just stare at each other. “What do you want?” Yuuri asks finally. “Are you just here to laugh at me?”

“Not quite,” says the demon. He smiles, and there’s… something different about this one; it seems less coy, somehow. “You were crossing my lands, and I was bored. I came to see what a lone angel was doing down here.”

“I already told you that I got lost,” Yuuri says sourly. “Now you know.” 

“Indeed,” says the demon. “But you can’t get out of here without help. Not before my fellows find you, and I don’t think you’ll enjoy it very much if they do.”

Yuuri shivers at this despite himself. He doesn’t need the demon to elaborate; he knows full well the kind of vengeance demons enjoy exacting on his kind. “Either tell me what you want, or leave me alone,” he says, voice tight. 

Unexpectedly, he gets a real answer. “Come to my manor for a few days,” says the demon. He’s watching Yuuri steadily, and if anything his blue eyes are brighter now, like lanterns lit in his head. “No one will harm you there, and I’d enjoy the company of one so lovely. And in exchange, I’ll see you safely to the edges of my lands when you’re ready to leave.”

Yuuri stares at him. Whatever request he’d been expecting the demon to make, it wasn’t that, somehow. Instinct is telling him to refuse—any sort of bargain with a demon is immediately suspect, and not to be trusted. But something makes him hesitate. 

It’s still possible the demon is just toying with him, of course, but somehow Yuuri doesn’t think so. Like all angels, he can sense deception. And while he can tell the demon does not exactly wish him well, he… doesn’t seem to wish Yuuri ill, either. Which is strange. 

Maybe he’s just too tired, at this point. Yuuri’s been journeying for so long, he doesn’t even remember the last time he truly rested. “I don’t know why you’d be interested in me,” says Yuuri at last. “I’m not worth anything.”

“On the contrary, I think you’re terribly interesting,” says the demon. “Not to mention beautiful. I would very much like to have you come stay with me for a little while.” He draws nearer, till he’s just a few feet in front of Yuuri. This close, Yuuri can feel his allure, the slight pressure that stronger demons all exert on anyone close enough to feel their influence. 

Yuuri’s strong enough, old enough, that resisting a demon’s allure is as easy for him as breathing. But instead of resisting, for some reason he’s finding he wants to give in. The demon’s offer sounds so much more inviting than continuing his lonely journey, so much easier. All he has to do is say yes. 

Yuuri swallows. He can’t seem to stop staring at those beautiful eyes. The demon smiles at him, and Yuuri sags. “Alright,” he hears himself say. “I’ll come.”

The demon’s smile brightens; his whole being burns with it, his pleasure curling the air around him, almost licking over Yuuri’s skin. “Wonderful,” he says.

* * * * *

Once the angel agrees to return with him, Victor wastes no time in immediately spiriting them both away from that empty field. He can travel almost instantaneously anywhere within his own realm; it’s one of the gifts that comes with being a more powerful demon lord.

They reappear in front of Victor’s manor—a sprawling edifice of dark, polished wood and delicately carved stone. The angel pauses, staring up at the massive front doors. A strange expression passes over his lovely face.

“Second thoughts?” Victor smiles lop-sidedly at the boy, disappointment already souring the back of his throat. He’d thought it was too good to be true, that such a creature would willingly consent to let Victor bring him home.

But the angel shakes his head. “Your house feels strange,” he says, still staring at the carven oak planks that make Victor’s front door. “It’s like it’s—not completely there.”

“Ah,” says Victor. “You can sense that? I’m impressed. Come inside, you’ll understand.” He walks up the steps, pressing lightly on the doors, and they swing open under his touch. He beckons, and after a moment the angel follows, though he looks as though he’s bracing for Victor to hit him.

The moment he steps over the threshold, he gasps, and almost stumbles. “ _Oh_ ,” he says. 

“Now you see,” says Victor approvingly. 

“How in the world did you hide such a massive building?” The angel comes inside, staring up in fascination at the ceiling of Victor’s foyer.

“Someone very powerful owed me a favor,” says Victor. “But now you see why I offered to keep you safe here. No one will find you as long as you are under my roof.”

It’s true; Victor’s manor is functionally invisible to infernal and divine eyes alike. It’s probably one reason the angel passed so close without realizing he was within spitting distance of a demon lord, but it also generally keeps Victor safe from the hosts of the divine—not to mention the attention of his jealous rivals, of which he has quite a few. Regardless, no one looking for his lovely guest will be able to find him while he’s here in Victor’s home. Which suits Victor just fine. 

“I knew you weren’t lying, but I didn’t realize what you meant,” says the angel absently. He’s still staring in fascination around Victor’s huge front hall. 

Victor supposes he can’t be blamed. His manor is enormous, and a study in elegance. The manor is built of dark, heavy wood and sturdy brick, its furnishings of burnished gold and enamel. Huge tapestries and paintings hang from the walls, and elegant busts and statuary are tucked into every nook and cranny. Thick red carpeting lines the floors not covered in hardwood, with long staircases sweeping down from the second level to flank a massive fireplace. 

“Come this way,” Victor says, and gestures for the angel to follow him. As they walk, Victor glances over at his guest, and says, conversationally, “You know, you haven’t told me your name.”

“Neither have you,” says the angel. But he doesn’t sound as guarded as he did before.

Victor smiles. “What a terrible host I am,” he says. “My name is Victor.”

“That’s an interesting name for a demon,” says the angel, and blinks at him. “Ah, well—my name is Yuuri.”

“What a lovely name,” says Victor, and means it. Yuuri must be able to tell, because he flushes again, a soft pink that starts in his face and spreads down through his throat. Victor’s smile widens; he has to be careful not to show all his teeth, no matter how much he wants to. He doesn’t want to scare Yuuri off. 

Victor leads Yuuri to his sumptuous dining room, and sends for dinner to be served. The conjures he’s created for this are swift and skillful, and soon a large spread is set before them, meats and fruits and fine cheeses, rich red wine and decadent chocolate truffles. Much of it is human food, since Victor has quite the taste for it, but there’s also a collection of more esoteric dishes: something that looks very much like a cream pie that’s actually made of despair and lost memories; a pile of exotic-looking fruits that were each plucked from a child’s dream.

“This is… Very thoughtful of you,” says Yuuri, staring at the huge feast. He’s sitting very straight in his chair; Victor is trying not to stare at the spot on his back where his wings should be. “But surely you must know that angels don’t need to eat.”

Victor laughs. “Neither do demons,” he says, and gives Yuuri another of his most winning smiles. “That doesn’t mean we don’t enjoy it.”

“Oh,” says Yuuri, and goes quiet. Victor wonders very much when the last time was that Yuuri did something purely for the sake of enjoying it—wonders if he ever has in his whole life.

He wonders what other pleasures his angelic guest is naive to. 

Victor tries a few times to engage Yuuri in conversation while they eat, but each of his attempts falls flat, and finally he gives up, content for now to let Yuuri drink his wine and eat his food. Yuuri seems to be working through something; he keeps glancing over at Victor, and then quickly dropping his eyes when he sees Victor staring at him. 

Finally, Victor’s curiosity wins out. “Something troubles you,” says Victor. He sets down the glass of wine he’s been drinking and fixes his eyes on Yuuri.

His angelic guest glances up, stiffening a little as though Victor has just accused him of something terribly sinful. “I don’t know wh—” he says, and then stops. 

Yuuri takes a deep breath. Victor watches as Yuuri visibly gathers himself, staring at his plate for several seconds before he squares his shoulders and looks back up at Victor again.

“I… was actually wondering something,” he says. 

“Speak,” says Victor, and gives what he hopes is an encouraging smile. 

Yuuri colors ever so slightly, but nods. “I know it’s a ridiculous thing to ask, for a lot of reasons,” he says. “But—but I was wondering if—if I could stay here. As your guard.”

Victor cocks his head, intrigued. He’d anticipated having to work to persuade his beautiful guest to stay for more than an evening, to give Victor the chance to undo him, but Yuuri continues to surprise him. “Why do you want to stay here?” he asks, when it becomes apparent Yuuri is waiting for his response.

Not that response, apparently. “I don’t want to talk about it,” says Yuuri quickly. “I-I’m sorry, it’s just—it’s not important.”

“Might it have something to do with your missing wings?” Victor muses. When Yuuri bristles, Victor holds up a hand. “Forget I said anything. You don’t have to tell me. But I’m afraid I have no need of a guard.”

“Oh,” says Yuuri. Victor watches as his face falls. “I see.”

“That does not mean I would not be willing to let you stay,” says Victor. Yuuri looks up at him quickly; the desperation in his eyes surprises Victor, but not in any way that makes him feel the least bit bad for what he says next.

After all, _he’s_ not the one who’s supposed to have a conscience.

“You’re beautiful, and I want you,” says Victor. He lets that hang in the air for a moment, watches as comprehension dawns on Yuuri’s lovely face. Yuuri swallows. But when he says nothing, Victor continues. “If you stay, it will be as my pet. You would be mine. I would protect you, care for you, see to it that you know nothing but pleasure. In return, you will give me your submission. You would have no duties but to do as I say.”

Yuuri listens quietly to this, watching Victor with the most incredible expression on his face. Victor has rarely had the opportunity to converse with an angel so close; usually angels are much more interested in smiting his sort with holy fire than listening to their proposals.

But Yuuri is different. Yuuri is beautiful, and sad, and somehow special. And if Yuuri wants Victor to hide him away from the rest of the world, Victor will be only too glad to do so. 

“If I accept, do I have to tell you why I want to hide?” Yuuri asks. 

Victor shakes his head. “Not unless you want to,” he says. “Who you were and what you’re hiding from doesn’t matter to me.”

Something in Yuuri’s face clears at that. “I’m not going to be very good at the ‘pleasure’ part,” he says. “But—I accept.”

Victor allows a slow smile to blossom across his face. Despite his attempt at control, he knows he must still look like the cat that ate the canary. “One last thing,” he says, before he lets himself get carried away.

Yuuri’s eyebrows go up; for a second he looks apprehensive. “Yes?”

“You can dissolve our arrangement at any time,” says Victor. “Tell me you wish to leave, and I will let you go.” It’s true; Victor has no taste for rape. There are far too many willing to be his partner for him to force his attentions on someone, even someone as lovely as his angelic guest. And it spoils the taste, anyhow.

Yuuri stares. “You’re awfully conscientious for a demon,” he says. He sounds bemused, rather than scared, which Victor is pleased by. Nervous is okay, but he doesn’t really want to frighten Yuuri. 

“And you’re awfully ready to sign yourself into my service, for an angel,” says Victor. He stands up, and comes around to Yuuri’s table. Yuuri gazes up at him, cheeks ever so slightly pink. 

Victor wants to eat him alive. 

“Time to get started,” he says.

* * * * *

Almost from the minute the words leave his mouth, Yuuri wonders if he’s made a mistake.

Not because he’s exactly afraid of Victor. As a demon lord, his actions and words are obviously suspect, but Yuuri has not been able to detect any real malevolence or deception in him, beyond the base-level lust he’s projecting every time he glances Yuuri’s way. Yuuri has spent many long years learning to perceive the intentions of others; he wouldn’t have entered into Victor’s home at all if he hadn’t felt reasonably secure that he’d be able to leave again if he wished. This particular demon is a creature of lust and hedonism, but there’s no cruelty in him. 

Nor is Yuuri overly bothered by the idea of his impending corruption. Victor is not the reason Yuuri was driven so far from heaven’s light, after all. And the whole reason behind Yuuri’s request is his desire to hide from that life, to leave it in the past. His wings are gone. Let his virtue go with them, for all he cares.

No, the reason Yuuri is nervous is because he has absolutely no idea if he’ll be able to do what Victor wants him to and not be a complete failure at it. Submission and devotion, he can do. They’re built into his nature, as much a part of him as the light in his heart and the inability to ignore the suffering of another. But pleasure?

Pleasure is something he knows nothing of. 

If Victor is aware of this, he doesn’t seem bothered by it. As soon as their agreement is made, he takes Yuuri from the dining room and leads him instead to a massive bedroom towards the rear of the manor house. The room is decorated as luxuriously as the rest of the house: two massive oil paintings on the walls, thick plush carpet beneath the feet, walls of heavy mahogany, one of which is lit by a crackling fireplace. They retire to a large, overstuffed sofa, where Victor gently pulls Yuuri closer so that he’s settled across Victor’s lap.

“While you’re mine, you will wear my mark,” says Victor. Yuuri doesn’t get the chance to ask what he means before Victor is gently placing hands around Yuuri’s throat, and Yuuri feels him conjuring a spell. There’s warmth, and faint pressure, and then the sense of something tightening, like a knot being tied. Then Victor leans back, looking pleased with himself.

“Look,” he says, and gestures at the wall, where a full-length mirror hangs in its heavy wooden frame. Yuuri looks, and sees his reflection wearing an elegant black collar. Demonic runes written in spidery gold run the length of the collar; as Yuuri watches, they pulse and burn with magic, like embers in the fireplace. 

“Now,” says Victor, and Yuuri turns to look at him again. “Your first lesson.”

Yuuri braces himself for—he doesn’t know what. But Victor’s hands are on him again, shockingly gentle for a demon, and then Victor’s mouth closes over his. His kiss is warm and easy, his lips as intoxicating as the wine they were just drinking. Yuuri doesn’t know what to do. 

But that turns out to not matter, because Victor seems not bothered at all by Yuuri’s shyness. He kisses Yuuri, slow and delicious, just their lips against each other. Slowly, Yuuri melts in his arms, feeling a lassitude spreading through him. His limbs grow heavy and somehow sensitive, and he finds himself squirming on Victor’s lap, lifting his head slightly to return the kiss. Victor makes an approving noise in his mouth, and then he starts to divest Yuuri of his clothes, until Yuuri is naked in his lap. 

Victor pulls back, regarding him with those brilliant eyes, dark now with obvious satisfaction. “So lovely,” he murmurs, stroking his fingers very lightly over Yuuri’s stiff cock. “I’m glad to see you’re enjoying this. But you’ve never done any of this before, have you?” Yuuri reddens and shakes his head. “Don’t worry, I’m happy to teach you, my sweet little bird.”

Which is exactly what he does. A short time later, Yuuri is shivering, hiding his face in his own arm while Victor leans over him, peppering Yuuri’s throat and chest with kisses and slowly stroking Yuuri’s aching cock. Yuuri was not— _unaware_ of sex, but a life spent in service and no partner in sight meant he rarely gave much thought to it. When Victor presses a fingertip further down, skating over the rim of his asshole, Yuuri can only whine, shocked little noises lost against his own arm.

“No, darling, I don’t want you to silence yourself.” Victor reaches up, tugging Yuuri’s arm away from his mouth. Yuuri stares at him, feeling wrecked, and whatever Victor sees in his face summons a wicked smile. Victor kisses Yuuri hard, pressing his tongue into Yuuri’s mouth at the same time as he strokes Yuuri’s cock more firmly, demanding, and Yuuri sobs against his lips, hips twitching a little. 

“That’s it,” Victor says throatily. “Mmm, you taste so good, Yuuri….” Victor leans back for just a moment, long enough to messily lick his own palm as Yuuri watches him with wide eyes. Then he reaches down to grasp Yuuri’s prick again, settling atop him to resume kissing him, boxing him in on the couch. 

In short order, Yuuri is squirming against his hand, panting and trembling, a need like he’s never known building and building in his guts. Victor’s tongue fucks into his mouth while he ruthlessly strokes Yuuri’s cock, and before long Yuuri is rocking helplessly against him, pleasure stealing his breath and setting his muscles to trembling. 

It builds and builds, and then rolls over him all at once. Yuuri arches against Victor’s hands, and Victor closes his mouth over Yuuri’s with a growl as Yuuri bows up off the couch, spurting hot stripes of come over his own stomach. Victor works his cock right through the waves of pleasure, until Yuuri has gone limp again, shivering and twitching and oversensitive. 

That’s when Victor sits up, sliding down Yuuri’s body to lap at the smears of come against Yuuri’s belly. Yuuri lets out a shocked moan at the sight of it. He actually has to covers his face with his hands, peering at Victor through his fingers, unable to completely look away.

Victor grins up at him, his expression positively wicked. “Like what you see?” 

“What are you doing?” Yuuri’s voice comes out in a strained whisper. 

Victor laughs. “I want to taste you, Yuuri,” he says. “I want to show you how good you can feel.” 

Before Yuuri can ask him what he means by that, or why he cares, Victor has leaned down again, is licking up Yuuri’s chest until he fastens his mouth around one of Yuuri’s nipples. He bites down lightly with his teeth, and Yuuri lets out a shocked noise at the sudden flash of heat and pain. 

“V-Victor!”

Victor bites down again, a little harder this time, and Yuuri squirms, shuddering underneath him. The moment the pain is about to become too much, Victor eases, lapping at the sore bud with his tongue. Yuuri’s breath hitches; he shoves his foot against the arm of the couch, a little overwhelmed by the newness of the sensation.

It’s not unpleasant, is the thing. It’s just _strange_ , and he’s still wobbly from his first orgasm, and now everything is making him shy, self-conscious. Victor reaches up with one hand, pinching Yuuri’s other nipple hard and rolling it between his fingers. Yuuri whines, sucking in a ragged breath at the pain. Victor soothes it moments later with his tongue, and Yuuri shudders, falling back against the couch with a thud as sensation spreads out in a wave from his abused nipples, tingling and warm.

“Do you like how that feels?” 

Yuuri squirms at the question. Even the sound of Victor’s voice is getting to him now, making his face burn for reasons he can’t quite understand through the fuzziness that’s filled his head. 

“I-I think so,” he says, shaky. Victor pauses. There’s a shuffle of movement as Victor crawls up Yuuri’s body again. Yuuri peeks at Victor through his fingers and sees a considering look on Victor’s handsome face. 

“You’re going to get very tired holding your hands there the whole time,” Victor says. His voice is mild, and he’s smiling, shockingly reassuring considering who and what he is. Yuuri feels himself blushing scarlet anyway, and hunches his shoulders a little in a vain attempt to hide. “Sweet thing, would this be easier if you didn’t have to look at me?”

The question is so startling that Yuuri actually drops his hands to stare at Victor for several seconds. “Maybe?” Yuuri says, and blinks. “I, I’m sorry, I—”

“Shhhh, it’s alright.” Victor kisses him as if to prove it, his mouth searingly warm. Yuuri relaxes a little under his kiss, even kissing back after a moment. They do nothing more than that for several moments, long languorous kissing that slowly swells that same heat in Yuuri’s body as before. 

Finally, Victor pulls back just a few inches, close enough that his silver hair is falling in Yuuri’s face. “I’m going to take care of you,” he murmurs. “I think I know just what you need.”

Victor conjures a length of black silk from who knows where, and coaxes Yuuri to sit up in his lap. He ties the silk around Yuuri’s head, covering his eyes and blotting out his vision. He’s very solicitous, careful to make sure it isn’t too tight and that it doesn’t chafe, and then guides Yuuri to carefully lay down across Victor’s lap so that he’s stretched out along the couch on his stomach. Victor keeps a hand at Yuuri’s back, stroking slowly up and down his spine.

It’s good, Yuuri thinks. With his eyes covered, he feels somehow safer, less self-conscious, even though he’s just as naked as he was before. Victor’s hand on his back is a soothing warmth, almost as reassuring as his voice. It hardly even registers that Yuuri is having these thoughts about a demon, of all beings. 

“I want you to do something for me, Yuuri,” says Victor. Yuuri squirms a little, but nods. “Stretch your hands out in front of you—yes, just like that. You can lay them on the edge of the couch there, but keep them there for me, okay? No moving them until I tell you to.”

“Okay,” says Yuuri, and sighs. 

“That’s good,” says Victor warmly. Yuuri feels a flush of pleasure at the praise, and is glad he’s facing away from Victor and his eyes are covered. “Now, the other thing. While we’re playing like this, Yuuri, I want you to call me ‘Master.’ And remember that whenever we do this, I’ll take care of you, alright? Can you do that for me, Yuuri?”

Yuuri swallows. He hesitates a moment, and then, cheeks burning, he says, “Yes, Master.”

“Good boy,” says Victor, and Yuuri can _hear_ his satisfaction. “So good for me, darling.”

Yuuri bites his lip, his cheeks hot at the praise. It’s ridiculous that something so simple should affect him, but he finds he can’t help but respond, desperate to chase this feeling, to lose himself in it. What does that say about him? What would his friends think of him, if they could see him now?

Before he can follow that dangerous line of thought, Victor slides his fingers through Yuuri’s hair and tugs very lightly, jarring him back to the moment. “Stay with me, darling,” Victor says, and though his voice is gentle there’s an edge just underneath it now. “Whose collar are you wearing?”

“Y-yours, Master,” says Yuuri quickly. He suffers a flash of gratitude that Victor could somehow read him, corral him away from those dark thoughts. 

“I think you need a bit more distraction,” says Victor. “We’re going to try something.” Before Yuuri can think to ask what, Victor’s hand on his back is moving down, caressing Yuuri’s backside before squeezing lightly. “Remember to keep your hands where I told you, Yuuri.” 

And before Yuuri can respond, Victor lifts his hand and brings it down against Yuuri’s ass in a stinging slap. Yuuri yelps, jumping in shock at the flare of pain; he hides his face against his forearms and focuses on keeping his hands where they are. Almost immediately, though, Victor is rubbing his hand over Yuuri’s ass, his touch gentle. 

“Breathe, darling,” Victor murmurs. “I know it’s a lot.” Yuuri makes a wet noise in his throat, his mind too jumbled to respond even if he thought Victor wanted one. 

Victor rubs his hand over Yuuri’s ass for a few more moments, his fingers dipping down to tease between his thighs, until the pain has faded a little and Yuuri finds himself wanting to squirm against Victor’s lap. Then, without warning, he spanks Yuuri’s ass again, harder this time. Yuuri cries out, rocking against Victor’s lap. 

“Good boy,” Victor says, “that’s it.” Again he’s running his hand lightly over Yuuri’s ass, the other still gripping Yuuri’s hair, holding him in place. Yuuri’s eyes are watering now; he’s totally jumbled by the sensations Victor’s giving him. His ass stings where Victor spanked him, but now there’s a warmth spreading through his muscles, and Victor’s touch feels good, makes him ache, makes him somehow want more. 

Victor spanks him again, and then again, three sharp slaps in a row before working his hand over Yuuri’s abused ass, soothing the sting a little bit. He keeps up this pattern, spanking Yuuri and then petting him, until Yuuri’s rocking into his hands, breathing hard and trembling from sensation. The blindfold is wet where he’s been crying against it, and somehow his cock is hard again, his ass and thighs aching where Victor’s been spanking him. 

It’s too much, painful and bright and overwhelming. Yuuri doesn’t think he wants it to ever stop.

“You’re such a good boy, Yuuri,” Victor says. “You take it so well for me.” His voice is thick and gravelly now, and through his haze Yuuri thinks he can feel how aroused Victor is, the demon’s lust coming off him in waves, like radiant heat. 

He can also feel Victor’s allure, the gift of persuasion that some demons have, but instead of a pressure at his mind it now feels more comforting—like a warm blanket, enveloping and reassuring. If Yuuri _really_ wanted to, he could force Victor off him, leave right now. He doesn’t think Victor would stop him, and even if he did, he’s just one demon—easy enough for Yuuri to handle even wingless.

But he doesn’t want to do any of that. Yuuri wants to stay right here and let himself sink. He wants to let Victor swallow him whole.

“We’re going to change positions again, sweet thing,” says Victor. 

“Yes, Master,” says Yuuri. Victor makes a pleased noise in response. Moments later Yuuri finds himself being pulled upright, which has him sitting for a moment in Victor’s lap, and Yuuri can’t help the faint whine that escapes as his abused ass rubs against Victor’s trousers. Immediately Victor pauses, sliding an arm around Yuuri’s waist to hold him more securely. 

“You’ve been very good for me, Yuuri,” Victor says in a low voice. “Be my good boy a little while longer, please. I promise I’ll make you feel so wonderful.”

There’s a shuffle of cloth at this head, and then a shift as the cloth over his eyes is replaced by Victor’s hand. Firelight filters in through Victor’s fingers, mild enough to let him adjust, before Victor drops his hand and Yuuri has his vision again. Yuuri blinks for a few moments, before looking up to find Victor smiling at him from up close. Yuuri smiles back, instinctive as breathing, and Victor’s expression softens for a moment before he leans down to kiss Yuuri. It’s downright intoxicating, and when they’re done Yuuri finds himself even more dazed than before, as though all his nerves are frayed. 

“Don’t worry,” Victor says, as he lays Yuuri down on his back once more. “I’ll give you back the blindfold in a moment. I just needed to make sure you were doing alright.”

“I’m fine,” says Yuuri. He can’t help but reach for Victor, cupping Victor’s face in one hand on some instinct he hardly understands. The smile it earns him does something to Yuuri’s heart, a twist of fierce pleasure that steals his air. 

True to his word, Victor blindfolds him again, carefully adjusting to make sure it’s not too tight. Then he pins Yuuri’s wrists above his head, kissing gently over his face. 

Yuuri’s breath catches in his throat at how helpless being pinned and blinded like this makes him feel. He half-hopes Victor misses it, but no such luck. “I wondered if you would enjoy that,” Victor says approvingly. “Maybe next time I’ll see how you do with your hands tied, too. Would you like that?”

Yuuri swallows. The question is scary—but with the blindfold on, it’s less scary. “I think so,” he admits after a moment. “Is, is that okay?”

There’s soft laughter in his ear, followed immediately by another flurry of kisses over his temples and face. “It’s more than okay,” Victor murmurs against his skin. “It would make me very happy. For now, though, I need you to be good. Keep your hands just like this, beautiful, and hold nice and still. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, Master,” says Yuuri. He relaxes a few increments at the praise, and at Victor’s kisses over his skin, Victor’s warmth buoying him up against his own insecurity. Victor’s in control, he reminds himself. He just has to do as he’s told.

Victor folds Yuuri’s legs up and back, then settles somewhere down by Yuuri’s thighs. Yuuri finds himself grateful for the blindfold and for the instructions to hold himself still, but he still shivers a little at the faint touches of Victor’s fingers against his ass and thighs.

His trepidation lasts just until he feels the touch of something cold and wet at his asshole—Victor’s finger, he realizes. Yuuri gasps, trying to follow the orders he was given, and then moments later Victor wraps his other hand around Yuuri’s cock and his lips around the tip, suckling wetly. 

It’s a good thing Victor told him to hold still, or else he might have accidentally kicked Victor in the face in reaction. Instead, he squeezes his eyes shut behind the blindfold and tries to just breathe, shivering as Victor skillfully sucks him down. 

The fingertip at his hole returns a moment later, but with the distraction of Victor sucking his cock, the sensation is more pleasant, less strange. Yuuri whines softly in his throat, his breath hitching as Victor slowly presses his finger into Yuuri’s ass. Soon he’s stroking in and out, setting up a rhythm with the bobbing of his head as he sucks Yuuri’s cock, and Yuuri can’t help but moan at the sensation.

It isn’t long before Victor adds a second finger. Before long he’s fucking his fingers in and out of Yuuri’s ass, working him open slowly as he sucks Yuuri down, and all Yuuri can do is lie there and try to breathe, to sink into the feeling as Victor slowly takes him apart. By the time Victor’s twisting three fingers inside him, Yuuri’s trembling with the effort of not rocking against Victor’s mouth and hand. Pleasure coils in his guts, his cock aching, and he’s trying _so_ hard to hold still but it’s getting more and more difficult.

“Master,” he whines. The word sticks in his throat, shaky like his air. “M-Master, please—“

Victor pulls off Yuuri’s cock for a moment; there’s a lewd slurping sound as Yuuri’s prick escapes from Victor’s lips, and Yuuri shudders. “You’re doing so good, Yuuri,” he says. The huskiness in his voice makes Yuuri’s cock pulse with want. “You can come whenever you want, sweet thing. I want to drink you up.” 

Before Yuuri can ask what he means, he feels Victor swallow him down again, and Yuuri moans, hips bucking of their own accord. Victor’s fingers press inside his ass, crooking at just the right angle; they brush over a spot somewhere inside him that sends a pulse of pleasure through Yuuri, and he cries out. 

Victor thrusts his fingers in again, harder than before, aiming exactly for that spot. At the same time, he sucks Yuuri harder, his mouth so wet and hot Yuuri can’t possibly resist him. A few more rough grinds of fingers against that sensitive spot, and Yuuri is coming into Victor’s mouth, sobbing harshly as his orgasm scrapes him dry.

Victor doesn’t let him up, working him over until Yuuri is trembling and over-sensitive. Only then does he let Yuuri’s softened cock fall from his lips. There’s a rustle of movement, and then Victor is kissing him, slow and wet and filthy. Yuuri moans into Victor’s mouth; without thinking, he raises his arms, wrapping them around Victor’s neck and shoulders, pulling him closer.

“Yuuuuuuri,” murmurs Victor into his mouth. Yuuri pulls back, dizzy and a little unsure of himself. “Did you forget what I told you to do with your arms?”

Yuuri gasps. “Oh! M-Master, I’m sorry, I—I didn’t mean to—” He hastily raises his hands above his head again, putting them back where they were. 

Victor laughs, kissing Yuuri’s temple very gently. “It’s okay,” he says. “It’s your first time, so I’ll let it pass. It takes practice.”

“I’ll do better next time,” says Yuuri. He’s still dazed from his orgasm and the spanking, which is the only thing keeping his anxiety somewhat at bay. 

“Good boy,” says Victor, warm and approving. The praise sends a flush of satisfaction through Yuuri, and he without meaning to he sighs, relaxing under Victor again. 

Victor lingers for just a few moments more before sitting up. Yuuri hears the rustling of fabric, then feels Victor folding his legs up and back again. Yuuri flushes under the blindfold at how exposed this position makes him feel, but that gets tossed aside as something wet and thick presses against Yuuri’s hole, making him gasp.

“I’m going to fill you up now, Yuuri,” says Victor. His voice has gone very hoarse now, rough like sandpaper. Yuuri feels Victor’s hands gripping his thighs, and then he presses forward, pushing his cock into Yuuri’s ass, and Yuuri is gasping and arching up off the couch as the blunt, swollen head of Victor’s cock breaches him.

He’s _huge_. Yuuri can’t even believe how big he feels, how intense it is as he slides in, but alongside the pressure is satisfaction, a pleasure that spreads through him like fine wine. Yuuri moans, and suddenly Victor is bent over him, kissing him, long drugging kisses that make Yuuri sag into the couch. 

This time, though, he keeps his hands where he was told. “You feel wonderful,” Victor says into his mouth, between kisses. “So good, you’re so good for me…” Yuuri shivers, kissing back, achy and dizzy and full of desires he’s never known before. Victor is—overwhelming; on top of him, inside him, his essence pressing relentlessly at Yuuri’s mind like the tide. Yuuri should feel suffocated, horrified, but instead he wants to just wallow in it.

Victor reaches down between them, stroking Yuuri’s cock, teasing at the spot where they’re joined. Yuuri’s hips jerk a little from how sensitive he still is. “I want you to enjoy this,” Victor says. He cradles Yuuri’s face in his palm, kissing over Yuuri’s blindfolded eyes like some perverted blessing.

“Why?” The question falls out of Yuuri’s mouth before he can stop himself, too addled by his own body to stop. Yuuri winces as he hears it sounds, but it’s too late to take it back.

“Because it’s more fun that way,” he says, and kisses Yuuri. Yuuri can hear his smile as well as feel it against his lips. “Because… mm. Because you taste better when you’re lost in pleasure like this. Because—” He kisses Yuuri again, slower, smoldering, thrusting his cock into Yuuri as they kiss, and Yuuri moans too, clutching helplessly at the arm of the couch.

“Because I know you’ve never experienced it, and it’ll be so delicious to be the one to show you,” Victor murmurs. 

Yuuri’s flagging brain takes a minute to work through all of this. _Taste better,_ Victor said, and then it clicks: incubus. No wonder Victor is so eager to take him to bed. Victor kisses him again, and the thought flies away, lost in the pleasure of Victor’s touch and lips. 

At some point Victor tells him he can let go of the couch, do whatever he wants with his arms, and Yuuri is grateful because it was getting hard to hold still, when Victor is taking him apart like this. He takes Yuuri’s blindfold off too, commenting how he doesn’t think Yuuri needs it anymore at the moment. Yuuri is more than happy to be able to meet Victor’s eyes, see the greedy, possessive way Victor looks at him while he’s slowly fucking Yuuri’s ass open.

Whatever it is that Victor wants, whatever his own reasons are for taking Yuuri to bed, it feels _so_ good. And it’s been so very long since Yuuri felt anything remotely sweet. He wraps his arms around Victor’s neck, kissing him back and and finally surrendering to the urge to take equal part in this, and that’s when he stops keeping track.

Victor fucks him for what feels like hours. He seems to know exactly what angle and speed to thrust at to send jolts of pleasure up Yuuri’s spine; knows just where to touch to get Yuuri’s breath hitching. He brings Yuuri to climax three more times before finally sitting Yuuri on his lap and fucking him harder, chasing his own pleasure. Yuuri shuts his eyes, arching against Victor when the demon’s breathing gets ragged, his fingers pressing harder into Yuuri’s hips. There’s a sudden burst of warmth inside him, and then Victor sags, wrapping his arms around Yuuri and pressing his face against Yuuri’s neck.

“So good,” Victor murmurs, half-lost in Yuuri’s hair. Yuuri keeps his eyes shut and sighs. 

For the first time in what feels like a hundred years, his mind is blissfully blank. He’s so tired, so wrung out; he doesn’t know if it’s because of some infernal magic on Victor’s part, or just that sex is _really exhausting_ , but he also doesn’t care.

Yuuri goes in and out after that. Victor gets a warm, wet cloth and cleans him up, then leaves Yuuri under a blanket and vanishes for a time. “I’ve made you a bed,” he says when he comes back. 

“Oh,” says Yuuri intelligently. Victor laughs, then scoops him up, blanket and all.

The bed turns out to be more like a soft, downy nest on the floor by Victor’s own bed, full of blankets and pillows and soft silks. Victor lays him down into it and tucks him in, arranging the blankets around Yuuri. “You can sleep in my bed with me if you’d rather,” Victor says, “but I thought you might want your own.”

“Okay,” says Yuuri, because thinking is hard and this bed is soft and comfortable. He hears another soft laugh, and then Yuuri knows nothing more.


	2. Allegro moderato

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor and Yuuri learn more about each other; Yuuri comes to enjoy being Victor's pet. But all is not peace and quiet in the far reaches of Hell, and Victor's lovely pet has a past that won't quite leave him alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note that this is the ONE chapter that's not NSFW in this story, in case you were concerned about where you read it.

The next few weeks are some of the strangest of Yuuri’s long life.

If someone had asked him how he thought a demon might treat him if Yuuri was ever so foolish as to let himself become prey to one, he would have said, _sadistic_. _Demanding_ , also. Words he would not ever have picked would be _patient_ or _tender._ But Victor manages to be all of those things, and the combination is somehow so much more effective than Yuuri could possibly have imagined.

Victor is a bit sadistic, certainly. Every day he wants to try something new, some depraved act that makes Yuuri’s toes curl and his knees weak. He’s demanding also, pushing Yuuri far beyond the limits of what he ever thought he might want or be able to do; he seems to revel in Yuuri’s tears and desperation, drinking them up while Yuuri is naked and trembling under him. 

But he’s patient, too. Yuuri is new to almost everything they do, and he makes frequent mistakes, or can’t always handle what Victor wants to do. In these instances, Victor never seems upset about having to pause or even stop altogether. He’s endlessly willing to give Yuuri another chance, which is nothing sort of incredible to Yuuri. And always after he is so tender, so gentle, that Yuuri starts to almost crave the harshness—because it makes what comes after that much sweeter.

Instead of leaving Yuuri alone to fill the long hours with only his own anxiety, Victor attends to him every minute of the day for those first weeks. He takes his meals with Yuuri (which is new all by itself; Yuuri has never taken regular meals, eating only rarely when he absolutely has to, like all his kind does), and he seems to love to introduce Yuuri to new food, to watch him try new things. He bathes with Yuuri, long luxurious baths in an enormous tub where Victor indulges in running his hands all over Yuuri. 

Yuuri very quickly becomes used to Victor taking liberties with his body, which he supposes is what Victor wants. It helps that Victor is handsome, and charming, and that his touches feel so very good. It’s no hardship at all to lay in his arms and kiss for hours, like Victor seems to love to do. 

They have sex, and a lot of it. Victor proves true to his nature as an incubus, knowing more about the subject than Yuuri believed there was knowledge of in the entire world. He brings Yuuri to orgasm with his face between Yuuri’s thighs, teasing and working him until he’s gasping and over-sensitive. He teaches Yuuri to suck his cock, and shows him exactly how good his body is capable of feeling. He teaches Yuuri to crawl, to beg, to call him ‘Master’ when they play; he shows Yuuri how wonderful the right kind of pain can be, how it feels to be spanked until he cries, how being bound in Victor’s bed can be thrilling instead of frightening. 

And always after Victor is full of praise and tenderness. He gathers Yuuri up and kisses him like he’s the most precious thing in the entire world, instead of a broken thing fallen far from grace, hiding away in shame. 

Yuuri clings to him at those times, his tears at odds with how grateful he is to be given something to soothe the ache inside of him. Victor never asks where his wings went, never presses Yuuri for the reason why he was wandering in a far field of Hell when Victor found him. He only ever kisses Yuuri’s tears away and tells him how beautiful he is, how good he is for Victor, and it’s enough. 

Lying around the house isn’t the only thing they do; sometimes Victor takes him on forays to the human world, which Yuuri is at first nervous about but then comes to greatly enjoy. He’s realizing that Victor must be very old and very strong, to have such powerful magic—he’s able to cloak them both in a guise of normalcy, hiding their infernal and divine aspects. Yuuri’s able to walk hand-in-hand with him down crowded city streets, admiring the bustling markets, the chattering humans going about their short lives. Victor seems especially fond of the big, elaborate cities: Moscow, Jakarta, San Francisco, Paris, Johannesburg. 

On these trips, they eat a lot of human food and do a lot of people-watching. Yuuri discovers that Victor enjoys spoiling him; anytime he sees Yuuri gazing too long at something—a clay mug, a silk scarf, a painting on display—they end up going home with it. Yuuri doesn’t really know what to do with this kind of materialism, but he starts to enjoy himself whenever Victor wants to dress him up or bestow some new gift on him. 

The attention is—nice. Okay, very nice. Enjoyable, even. Yuuri comes to decide that he’s grateful that Victor is the sort of demon given to pleasure and hedonism and indulgence, and that he no longer has to worry about the consequences of giving in to such vices. After all, he’s Victor’s pet now. 

Instead of lying awake or being troubled by restless dreams, now Yuuri sleeps deeply and undisturbed. Or at least, he does, until after some eight weeks have passed. That’s the night when he’s yanked rudely from his sleep by shooting pain in his back, between his shoulder blades. 

Yuuri whimpers, rolling onto his stomach and shoving his face against a pillow. The pain comes again, sharp and throbbing, and Yuuri lets out a muffled cry.

“Yuuri?” 

_Oh,_ Yuuri thinks, distressed. He was trying to be quiet. He hears Victor padding over to him from the bed, and then a hand on his shoulder. “Wake up, sweet thing.”

“S-Sorry,” Yuuri mumbles. He squeezes his eyes shut in mortification; the pain feels awfully familiar, but he doesn’t know why it’s back _now_ , of all times.

“What’s wrong?” Victor sounds genuinely concerned, which is somehow worse. Yuuri feels tears stinging his eyes. Before he can stop himself, he sniffles, trying to swallow past the sudden lump in his throat. “Yuuri, are you okay?”

“I-I’m fine,” Yuuri says bracingly. “It’s not a big—AH!” Another throb of pain comes, sharp like a knife, and fresh tears burn his eyes, leaking down his face. 

“Yuuri,” breathes Victor. “Tell me what’s wrong. Are you hurt? What happened?”

Yuuri sucks in another ragged breath, wiping angrily at his cheeks. “I don’t know,” he says, and hates how wet and weak his voice sounds. “But it’s—it hurts. Where my wings used to be.”

Victor is silent for a moment. Then, Yuuri feels Victor’s hand on his back again, gently probing until he hits exactly the wrong spot, making Yuuri suck in a harsh breath. “I can’t feel anything,” Victor says. Yuuri thinks he sounds frustrated, which is more or less how Yuuri himself feels.

“That’s because they were ripped off,” Yuuri says. He hears the sharp breath Victor takes, and suffers a wave of bitter resentment. The pain should be gone by now; his wings were torn away almost a year ago, and have healed enough that Yuuri can usually keep their ragged stubs hidden. Why are they hurting him now, after all this time?

He doesn’t want to have to think about them anymore. But just the memory of that terrible pain, how agonizing it was, brings a fresh flood of misery to his chest. He has to bury his face in his arms to muffle the low sob that comes in response. 

“Come here,” says Victor, and then Victor is lifting him oh-so-carefully, bringing him over to Victor’s own bed. Victor settles beside him, tucking Yuuri against him, and then he presses his hand to that ache in Yuuri’s back. 

For a moment, there’s nothing. Then a subtle sensation comes, Victor’s hand warming, and then it burns for a moment, making Yuuri gasp in shock. And then abruptly the burn is gone, leaving behind only numbness. 

“Oh,” says Yuuri, and sags into the bed, against Victor’s chest. “What—what did you do?”

“I don’t have your kind’s gift for healing, I’m afraid,” says Victor, and kisses Yuuri’s hair. “But I can still ease your pain for a little while.” 

“Thank you,” says Yuuri. He’s glad it’s dark; the memory of his lost wings brings back a whole host of miserable feelings, and he wants nothing to do with any of them. Yuuri swallows hard, turning and pressing tightly into Victor’s chest, trying to make himself as small as possible.

Victor gently wraps an arm around his waist, pulling Yuuri closer. To Yuuri’s immense gratitude, he doesn’t press the issue at all, just strokes his hair soothingly. Yuuri shuts his eyes, wishing with all his heart that he could banish these feelings, leave them in the past where they belong. “I’m sorry,” he says wretchedly.

A distant part of him recognizes how idiotic this is: seeking comfort and solace from a demon, of all creatures. But the rest of him doesn’t care. 

Victor leans down to kiss Yuuri’s temple and says, “Forget about that, sweet thing. You’re mine now, and you’re safe here.”

“Okay,” Yuuri whispers. Never has he wanted something to be be true more than that. He shuts his eyes and lets Victor wrap around him, and eventually he’s able to fall asleep again.

* * * * *

The night Yuuri’s pained cries pull him from his bed, Victor was already lying awake. Not out of anxiety, or pain, but out of concern. Specifically, he’s been wondering if he’s lost his damn mind over a pretty face and a pair of broken wings.

Victor is very old by mortal standards, and ‘well-seasoned’ according to his demonic friends. Over three thousand years, as the humans reckon it, though of course time in Hell doesn’t flow quite the same as in the human world. He doesn’t know how old Yuuri is—he hasn’t asked, holding fast to his agreement to not pry into Yuuri’s past—but he thinks his angel is younger, probably. Victor doesn’t think a more experienced angel would have agreed to come back to his manor, much less so willingly allow to let a demon make a pet out of him.

And Yuuri was supposed to be just that: a pet. A nice little diversion, something to pass the time. Victor had initially intended to stay home with him for just two weeks, to get him acclimated. He was going to go back to his normal life after that, and let Yuuri either stay or leave as he wished. Be a demon about town with Christophe and Mila; visit his dear, grumpy Yurio like he’s been promising to; maybe even consider returning to his studies with Yakov.

But then Yuuri turned out to be much needier and even more delicious than Victor anticipated. Victor found himself utterly charmed by Yuuri: his grace, his loveliness, and above all his willingness to give himself to Victor so completely. Everything that Victor asks of him, he does, even if it scares him, even if it’s hard. He has a perseverance and a determination that is striking, even for one of the divine. Victor loves it. 

Yuuri could easily have been expected to simply sit until he’s called for, but to Victor’s great satisfaction, he’s started initiating things himself. He asks to try new things, new toys or different positions, and he now seems to love their sex almost as much as Victor does. He kisses like Victor is his air, his sun and sky; he falls apart so beautifully in Victor’s bed, and his pleasure tastes better than anything Victor has ever had in his long life. In short, he’s intoxicating.

He’s proven more than just a warm body for Victor’s pleasure, however. Yuuri is funny, and curious, and he listens to Victor’s stories with his full attention. Victor has not totally abandoned all of his various projects, often working on them with Yuuri on the couch beside him. (Victor has a great many projects, ranging from the banal—spell-crafting pretty things, or acquisition of various toys and clothing—to the sublime, like executing a century-long process to grow an extinct species of tree Victor misses the smell of, or bringing about an intricate government plan in a human town some five generations in the making). Sometimes Yuuri sits curled up in a chair reading a book while Victor crafts things in his workshop. And sometimes, Yuuri interrupts Victor’s work and coaxes him to the bedroom so sweetly that Victor can’t hope to resist. 

But not everything is passion and indulgence. Whatever it was that drove Yuuri so far from Heaven’s light—drove him nearly to Victor’s doorstep—it weighs on him still. Victor sees it in the distant look he gets sometimes in quiet moments, and the idea disturbs him, somehow. He doesn’t want Yuuri to think of whatever terrible thing lies in his past. He wants Yuuri to think only of his here and now, with Victor. 

So he ends up staying home with Yuuri, and he tells himself it’s because it’s been such a long time since he found such a captivating distraction. He’ll tire of Yuuri sooner or later, he’s sure. Or so he tells himself.

But when he hears Yuuri’s anguished noises from his bed on the floor, Victor doesn’t stop to think for a moment. He’s out of bed and at Yuuri’s side in an instant, and there’s no considering the best course of action. Victor simply brings Yuuri into his own bed, where he can keep his boy close, take care of him better. 

It isn’t until Yuuri’s finally quieted and slipped off to sleep again, tucked against Victor’s chest for protection, that Victor bothers to wonder if this has already gone too far.

* * * * *

In the morning, Victor carries Yuuri to the bath (“I can walk, Victor—” “Humor me, darling.”) and washes him thoroughly, from head to toe. There’s still no sign of the spot where Yuuri’s wings were torn off, but Victor can see twin red patches on his back, as though Yuuri’s breaking out in a rash.

Yuuri whimpers when he touches there, and Victor frowns. “Is this normal?” he asks, leaning over to peer into Yuuri’s face. “Does this happen to your kind?”

Yuuri drops his eyes, hunching over as he pulls his knees to his chest. “I don’t know,” he says, muffled. “It feels like—I don’t know.” 

Victor thinks there’s more there, but Yuuri is so visibly unhappy at having to talk about it that he lets it drop, for now. Instead, he focuses on being as tender as he possibly can, rubbing rich lotion into Yuuri’s skin, soothing Yuuri with kisses and little touches until his boy relaxes somewhat again. Yuuri allows Victor to take him to the couch, and sits with him for awhile, their arms wrapped around each other as they kiss languorously and Victor drinks of his darling’s energy. Finally, Yuuri settles against Victor’s chest with a sigh, eyes shut, his expression finally peaceful. 

Yuuri knows by now that this is how Victor feeds on him, when he chooses to do so. Victor had thought Yuuri might be upset at serving not only as his plaything but his food, but Yuuri’s reaction was fairly anticlimactic. 

(“I don’t care,” he said, when Victor asked him about it. “It feels nice. And I like kissing you.” 

“Good,” said Victor, and kissed him until Yuuri went pliant and soft in his arms, as pleasantly worn-out as if Victor had spent hours taking him apart.)

Victor sits with Yuuri for awhile, until Yuuri has drifted off to sleep, curled up on his side with his head pillowed on Victor’s lap. Victor strokes his hair, considering what he should do. Finally, he leaves Yuuri curled on the couch, tucking a blanket around him to keep him warm. 

From experience, Victor knows that after Victor drinks of him, Yuuri will sleep for a good few hours if he’s left undisturbed. That should give him enough time to complete the errand he has in mind. Just in case, though, he writes out a short letter and leaves it beside Yuuri on the couch. 

It says: _Darling, I have gone on a brief errand. I won’t be gone more than a few hours. Be good and stay in the house._

Aside from their excursions to the human world, Yuuri has never shown any interest in leaving the manor without Victor at his side. Still, Victor has seen and recognized the darkness dwelling in his angel’s heart, and he does not want to provoke it in any way. He drops a light kiss on Yuuri’s temple and then leaves.

As soon as he’s out the front door, he vanishes—or rather, his strides lengthen to some thirty furlongs with every step. Victor knows of a particular town that straddles the borders between realms, where you might find a tincture to cure almost any ailment, if you knew where to look. Lethe is a mysterious place full of myriad wonders, but Victor really has only one need today. 

Yuuri is in pain. Victor can already tell that it will torment him, if it’s not put a stop to. So Victor needs the kind of medicine that only the Arcanist knows how to make. Yuuri doesn’t need to know where it comes from, or what it costs Victor to acquire it, so long as it works.

Victor’s thoughts during his trip are mainly concerned with what lovely thing they can do that afternoon. He has the medicine, though not without cost—the Arcanist wanted an entire _pint_ of his blood this time, which was not a pleasant donation, but Victor knows he’ll recover soon enough. All he really needs is a good distraction to take Yuuri’s mind off whatever took his wings. 

Perhaps they can use the St. Andrew’s Cross today (Victor thinks he will never get over the deliciousness that an object used for such sinful delight is named for a saint). Yuuri expressed an interest in Victor’s favorite whip, the cat o’nine tails, and Victor has been looking forward to seeing just how lovely Yuuri will look with his ass and thighs marked up from it. 

Victor’s still contemplating how beautifully Yuuri will cry and scream for him when he gets back to his manor, takes three steps inside, and immediately realizes something is wrong.

Yuuri is gone.

Victor stands absolutely still for a few moments, just searching. He sends his consciousness out, the magical awareness he has of his dwelling, but the more thorough scan reveals the same result. No one is inside his manor house but him. Victor stalks through the halls, his temper flaring as he comes to the room he left Yuuri in. The note is right there on the couch, next to the blanket Yuuri slept under. Victor crouches to touch it, but the spot is cool; Yuuri has been gone for longer than he hoped, then.

How _dare_ he leave? Victor took him in, doted on him, cared for him—showed him pleasure beyond anything he’s ever known in either the human or divine realms—and he just _leaves_? Victor hisses to himself, storming through the house to see what other clues might have been left by his pet’s flight. The fact that he once promised Yuuri that he could leave whenever he wished occurs to him, and is then immediately dismissed. Yuuri is _his_ ; his boy is not allowed to simply leave, without so much as saying goodbye!

If Yuuri were there to see it, he’d be unable to miss the way Victor’s eyes turn from blue to glowing red, or the smoke that issues from his nostrils as his demonic nature asserts itself. Victor burns the very air as he passes, the molecules sizzling from the heat of his skin. He does not bother to assess whether all he feels is fury, or if something more sorrowful lurks beneath the surface, an anguish he can’t yet bear to look at. 

Nothing else presents itself during his search. The bed where they’ve lain together so many times is undisturbed; so is Yuuri’s own bed, and the bathtub, and the study. Victor curses, hurling his spite at the wall in a fit of pique, and then stalks off without bothering to look at the scorched hole he just created.

It isn’t until he gets back to the door, ready to tear out after his wayward pet, that he notices something on the floor. Victor stops, crouching to examine the spots, ominously red and viscous-looking. Victor wipes his fingertips through it and sniffs the smear on his skin.

Blood.

Victor’s righteous indignation immediately cools, tempered now by worry. Why did Yuuri leave? Was he hurt? Victor can detect no trace of someone else in the house, but now he wonders if his boy was fleeing not from Victor, but from something else. He thinks of how upset Yuuri was the night before, and wonders if Yuuri’s past has somehow caught up to him, despite all the care Victor has taken to keep him safe and hidden.

Now that Victor thinks of it, his pet shouldn’t have been _able_ to leave at all—Victor wove magic into his collar to prevent him from doing just that, to keep him safely in the house and under Victor’s protection. Victor wonders uneasily if Yuuri is stronger than he’d guessed at, then sets it aside. He has to find Yuuri, and quickly. Before someone else does. 

Victor rises, tugging his cloak more tightly around himself. He exits the manor and stands before the door for a few moments, scenting the air. A muttered breath and a swift gesture tells him what he needs to know: Yuuri is still wearing his collar, which means that Victor can track him with ease. Good.

Three steps, and Victor vanishes, swallowed by smoke and purple flame, leaving only the faint stink of sulphur in the air. He needs to move quickly and quietly, and to avoid detection if at all possible. 

As he moves, he tries not to think about what he’ll do if he finds Yuuri, only to discover that Yuuri genuinely doesn’t want to return to the manor with him. If Yuuri truly wishes to leave him, after all of this, then… He can’t think about it, can’t consider it. Yuuri can’t leave him; that’s all there is to it. Victor doesn’t want to contemplate going back to the idle, pointless existence he was enduring before. 

Victor tracks Yuuri swiftly; robbed of his wings and thus all his more magical traveling means, Victor’s boy has gone on foot, which means he hasn’t gotten far. The invisible trail left by his passage and the magic on his collar leads Victor to a thick forest some hour’s journey from Victor’s manor. Trees jut up from the plains, dark sentinels against whoever would trespass in their midst, but Victor does not falter. Yuuri’s path leads him directly on.

It’s some short distance into the woods that he finally finds something: a clearing where one tree in particular catches his eye, and not just because the mark of Yuuri’s passage leads him directly to it. The tree’s boughs are thick, gnarled, and hang lower to the ground than its fellows. It would be a simple matter to climb up into its arms. Victor does just that, and at its heart he finds what appears to be a clumsily-made nest: it’s full of leaves and branches, shoved up against the sides as though someone were doing an awkward impression of a mama bird. Here and there in the nest are more spots of blood.

Victor examines the nest for more clues, but nothing he finds illuminates the situation for him in the slightest. Why did Yuuri flee his manor? Why did he come here, to the woods, instead of further on? Why in the world did he make a _nest_? Isn’t Victor’s bed more comfortable, Victor’s arms more inviting? 

And most importantly, why isn’t Yuuri here? 

The magical trail ends at the nest; Victor is so distraught that he almost misses the clues at the base of the tree. Almost. He’s climbing down when a stray wisp of magic catches his attention, like a faint scent lingering in the air. Victor crouches, and in the dirt and dead leaves at the tree’s base he finds the shreds of the collar he made for Yuuri.

Victor’s breath catches in his throat. On the collar itself is more magic, demonic in nature but not his own. 

A demon tracked Yuuri here. Someone found him, saw Victor’s mark on him and discarded it, then took Yuuri for its own.

Victor stands, drawing a slow breath. Infernal magic seeps from under his skin; around him the shadows fester, growing darker, thicker, more foreboding. His eyes burn red. He stands still as stone in the clearing, concentrating hard as he searches for the trail. Then, all at once, he vanishes into smoke.

* * * * *

What is it with demons and their ridiculous homes, Yuuri wonders. Half-wonders, anyway. The rest of him is too busy being sick with anxiety. He doesn’t even know where he is, exactly, or how much time has passed. He only knows that he made a mistake, leaving Victor’s manor, and now it might cost him his life.

The creature that’s found him—a demon, he supposes, though it’s so different from Victor that Yuuri has trouble thinking of them as the same kind—is vile. It looks like a reanimated corpse with glowing eyes, and it smells of blood and decay and dead things. Its touch burns Yuuri’s skin where it’s put hands on him; he had to fight to stop from crying in pain as it carried him to its dwelling, a mansion as unlike Victor’s as this demon is unlike Yuuri’s lover.

The building is decrepit, its days of good use long behind it. It stinks of rotting boards and dank cupboards, long-abandoned rooms full of broken promises and desiccated dreams. Part of its roof has caved in, but the world outside is as broody and dim as ever, and what little light there is inside it comes mainly from the sickly glow of torches hung on the walls. Ruined furniture sprawls at random around the great hall, where the demon brought Yuuri and tied him to what used to be a high-backed chair in better days. His back already hurts enough without being pressed against the wooden chair, but it’s not as if his captor cares about that.

By far the worst part, though, is the fact that if Yuuri were in anything like his normal condition, the infernal thing wouldn’t be a threat to him. But right now he’s weak and terribly vulnerable, which is why it was so incredibly stupid of him to flee from Victor’s manor. The beast found him in his clumsy, makeshift nest, and the piddling little flame Yuuri summoned sputtered out without doing a lick of damage. 

His collar is gone, too. Yuuri is too upset at its destruction and too scared for what comes next to be embarrassed about the fact that not having Victor’s collar around his neck makes him feel lost. The monster stands in the center of the ruined hall, crouched low over the floor boards as it scratches some kind of enormous sigil into the wood. Yuuri thinks it’s building a spell; he thinks, too, that he can guess what his own role will be in its casting.

Or rather, what use the demon will have for his blood.

Whatever the magic is, it feels foul, like everything else in this desolate place. All Yuuri wants is to be back safe in Victor’s bed. 

His back throbs again, worse than before, a terrible stabbing pain; he has to fight to keep his sob back. He tries to pull his knees up to his chest, but tied to the chair back as he is, he can’t lean forward enough to hide his face how he wants. The best he can do is squeeze his eyes shut against the fresh flood of tears. It hurts so _badly_ —he wants Victor, leaving was a mistake, why did he leave, why—

Yuuri’s so distracted by his own pain and distress that he almost misses when it happens. Almost.

He notices the smoke first. The air in the room appears to be getting thicker, murkier. Yuuri wonders if the demon has started its spell, but a glance at its sigil tells Yuuri that the spell isn’t ready yet and certainly hasn’t been activated. Yuuri glances around, searching for the source, and sees more thick smoke coming from beneath the door to the outside.

That’s when all the torches in the room go out at once. 

Yuuri gasps. He hears the corpse-demon snarl, sees its rotted eyes glow with infernal magic in the sudden darkness. Then a different light source flares on the far side of the room, red and purple flames licking up the shape of a familiar figure. Yuuri feels his mouth go dry at the sight of his lover: tall, taller than any human ever was, a creature of black malevolence with searing red eyes and high arched horns. His hands end now in huge, black-tipped claws, as though dipped in poison. 

Yuuri can’t help himself. “VICTOR!” he cries, and tries to get up, but the black ropes around him hold him fast. All he earns is another throb of pain in his back at the effort, and he sags, tearing up again. He sees Victor glance over at him for a moment before returning his attention to the beast now drawing itself up to its full height. 

“Get out of here, incubus.” The corpse-demon speaks for the first time, its words slurred as though talking through a mouthful of sludge. “This prey is mine.”

“He was wearing my collar when you found him,” says Victor. Yuuri shivers at the threat in his voice. In other circumstances, it would make him want to present himself, but right now he’d rather hide. Victor’s eyes burn in the darkness, a heat far more dangerous than the flames licking up his legs.

“You should have kept better hold of him, then,” says the corpse-demon, and spits. It lurches towards Victor, its gait shuffling and uneven. Yuuri can feel the foul magic gathering in the room, and he opens his mouth to shout a warning to his lover—

—but Victor responds first. One moment, he’s standing still as stone, watching the corpse-demon approach; the next, the corpse-demon is screaming as Victor’s claws tear right through its middle. Yuuri hears the sizzle of rotten flesh as Victor rips the monster open, and then it topples over, sliding off Victor’s claws and hitting the floor with a wet _squelch_. 

Yuuri catches a glimpse of Victor’s expression in the murky light, his lover’s face contorted with pure fury. It stops his breath, his heart crawling into his throat. 

He must make some kind of noise, though, because Victor looks over at him sharply. He steps over the mutilated corpse and crosses the room in a few steps; it’s the work of a moment for him to slice Yuuri’s bonds open, and then he’s pulling Yuuri into his arms in a fierce embrace. Yuuri sags, shuddering with reaction, grateful to let Victor take his weight.

“My Yuuri,” Victor breathes. He pulls back slightly to stare into Yuuri’s face. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?” He’s shifting back to his normal shape right before Yuuri’s eyes, the torches in the room re-lighting themselves, though it doesn’t erase the corpse-demon’s stink.

“I’m okay,” Yuuri says shakily. “V-Victor, I’m so sorry—“

“Why did you leave?” There it is. Victor sounds hurt, angry even, and Yuuri knows he has every right. 

He winces and opens his mouth to reply, but before he can get the words out Victor is crouching to pick him up. Victor’s arm goes around Yuuri’s shoulders, brushing right against the sore spots, and Yuuri lets out a cry of agony at his touch. His knees give out, and if not for the way Victor grabs him he would have collapsed.

“Yuuri!” Victor looks horrified. “What did that thing do to you?” He lowers Yuuri carefully to the floor, pulling him in to lean against Victor’s chest and trying to get a look at his back. 

“It didn’t hurt me,” Yuuri says, and sighs. “I’m—I—my wings are budding.”

Victor pauses. “What?”

Yuuri squeezes his eyes shut, embarrassed and more than happy to hide his face against Victor’s neck as his lover pulls his tunic up to examine his back. “It’s why my back has been hurting,” he says; the words come out in a whisper. “I think my wings are growing back.”

Victor doesn’t say anything to this immediately. He tugs Yuuri’s tunic up, being very careful of his shoulder blades; now that he’s looking for it, Yuuri is sure he can feel the twin prongs of bone jutting from Yuuri’s back. Yuuri tucks his head as Victor pulls the tunic off, and then he hears Victor’s sharp breath as he examines Yuuri’s newly-budded wings.

Yuuri knows what they look like. They’re ugly, half-formed things, little more than stubs of bone and sinew covered with a thin layer of flesh. When the structures have filled out somewhat, actual feathers will appear, but that won’t be for a little while yet.

“I had no idea wings could grow back,” Victor says. He leans back again, gazing into Yuuri’s eyes. “But I don’t—is this why you left?”

Yuuri swallows. Now that his master is here for him and he’s safe, his anxiety over his flight from Victor’s house is back in full force. On some level, he knows very well that he and Victor have an agreement, that Victor told Yuuri he could leave at any time if he wished. But at this exact moment, Yuuri feels very much like he has committed a great wrong against Victor, and now he’s being asked to account for his behavior. 

“Usually angels only grow wings once, when we’re young,” Yuuri says. “We live in aeries with our parents until we get old enough to fly on our own, but—it’s ugly and awkward and painful. It takes all your energy while they grow.”

Victor’s expression flickers. “So it makes you more vulnerable.”

“I—” Yuuri stares at his lover, stricken. Oh. Oh, no. “Yes,” he says wretchedly.

“ _Yuuri_ ,” says Victor. 

Yuuri can feel his eyes stinging with tears. “I’m s-sorry, Master,” he says, and it comes out wet, pathetic. “I, it hurt and I was embarrassed, I panicked, it was just an instinct—”

“Shhh,” says Victor. He stands again, slower this time, lifting Yuuri with him; he pulls Yuuri in close, running a hand possessively along his spine as Yuuri clings to him. He kisses Yuuri’s hair, incredibly gentle, and Yuuri hiccoughs a little bit, trying to keep his noises down. 

“We should leave this place, it isn’t safe here,” says Victor. Yuuri nods, shutting his eyes. “Can you walk, Yuuri?”

Yuuri hesitates a moment before answer, mentally taking stock. He sighs. “I don’t think so,” he says. “It took me ages to get to the woods.”

“You’re lucky you weren’t hurt before I found you,” says Victor. His voice is dark, but the tenderness in his face and hands make it clear it’s not Yuuri the threat is directed towards. “Alright. Put your legs and arms around me, Yuuri.”

Victor crouches, scooping Yuuri up with one arm under Yuuri’s butt, the other wrapped around his shoulders (and very carefully avoiding his tender wings). Yuuri wraps around him, shutting his eyes as he leans into Victor, so grateful to let Victor take ownership of him again. 

Three steps, and they’re out of the ruined manse. Yuuri keeps his eyes shut as Victor carries them back, but he can feel the swirl of Victor’s magic that helps him cross great distances in very little time. It’s only a matter of minutes before they arrive back at the doors of Victor’s manor. Only once they’re back inside does Yuuri open his eyes again, letting out a soft sigh at being home safe. 

He half-expects Victor to scold him more, but apparently Victor is saving that for later. Victor doesn’t put him down; instead, he carries Yuuri through the house, through the bedroom and into the enormous bathroom. Only then does he set Yuuri down, sitting him on the edge of the tub. 

Now Victor crouches in front of Yuuri, putting his hands on Yuuri’s knees as he gazes up at him. He doesn’t speak for several long moments; Yuuri watches him, feeling increasingly nervous at Victor’s complicated expression. It’s impossible to read him right now, and Yuuri is trying hard not to squirm, or be impatient, but all he can think about is how Victor hasn’t yet put a collar back on him. 

Maybe he’s not going to.

At last, Victor speaks. “Do you want to stay here, Yuuri?” he asks. His expression is still neutral, but Yuuri thinks he can detect some strain in his voice. “I promised I wouldn’t stop you, if you wanted to go.”

“I don’t want to go,” says Yuuri immediately. He swallows. “Please, Victor, I’m—I’m sorry, I just panicked. I was embarrassed.”

Victor’s face clears a little at this. “If you stay, you have to promise not to do that to me again, pet,” he says, and now there’s more emotion to his voice, more heat. The tightness in Yuuri’s chest eases by a notch. “You can’t run off, it’s not safe. Especially when you’re—what did you call it?”

“Budding,” says Yuuri. “My wings are budding.” 

Victor nods, but Yuuri still doesn’t feel right. He fidgets for a moment, still exhausted from the day’s ordeal and unsure how to ask for what he wants. Victor’s hand on his knee squeezes. “Is there something you want to say, Yuuri?”

Yuuri bites his lip. “Do… Do you still want me? Even though I’m—” Broken, badly behaved, ugly, a failure…

Victor’s eyes widen, and then he’s kneeling up, wrapping his arms around Yuuri again, pressing their foreheads together. Yuuri can feel the faint burning that comes whenever the spot where Victor’s horns emerge touches his own flesh, Victor’s magic not entirely able to hide his demonic nature. “I want to hide you away from the world and never let you go, sweet thing,” Victor says. The roughness to his voice sends a shiver down Yuuri’s spine. “I want to keep you here and do wonderful, terrible things to you every day until you forget about everything that isn’t me.”

Yuuri takes a deep, shaky breath. “I want that too,” he says. He never would have thought it, once, but now nothing sounds more vital or important. “Please, Victor, I don’t want to leave, I w-want to stay here and—and be yours.”

Victor’s hands come up, cradling Yuuri’s face for a moment before sinking down to encircle Yuuri’s throat. Yuuri’s breath hitches. “Say it again,” says Victor. Yuuri can see the greed in his eyes, the desperate want to match Yuuri’s own. “Say that you’re mine, that you belong to me.”

“I’m yours, Victor,” says Yuuri immediately. His words tumble out in a rush, his desperation for Victor making him clumsy. “Please, Master, I won’t run off again, I’m all yours—”

“Will you wear my mark, my darling?” Victor nuzzles Yuuri’s face, kissing over his nose, his eyes, and Yuuri sighs.

“Yes, Master,” he murmurs. Victor makes a noise of approval. There’s a moment of pressure, of heat and sensation, and then Yuuri all but slumps into Victor’s arms in relief at the feel of a collar around his neck again. He makes a few wet, shaky noises, reaction bringing fresh tears to his eyes.

“Shhhh,” Victor says softly, against his hair. “It’s alright, you’re home now, you’re back where you belong.” 

It’s a few minutes before Yuuri feels strong enough again to sit on his own, but then Victor goes about drawing a hot bath while Yuuri sits by. While the tub fills, Victor gets some towels and sets about washing Yuuri clean of the filth and grime he accrued from the day. Between his clumsy attempt at building a nest and the corpse-demon dragging him to the abandoned mansion, he’s grateful for the sponge bath.

Once the tub is full, Victor settles Yuuri into it, then climbs in himself. Yuuri immediately crawls into Victor’s lap, settling sideways across his lover’s thighs. His budding wings are still far too sensitive for him to lean his back against Victor’s chest how he’d like. 

The hot water is sinful relief, but nothing compares to the comfort of having Victor’s arms around him. They sit quietly for awhile, just soaking; Victor put some kind of pleasant-smelling salts in the water, and they do marvelous things for Yuuri’s sore and tired body. 

Eventually, Yuuri sits up. Victor looks at him, a soft smile on his face, and Yuuri finds he can smile back. “Victor,” he begins, and then stops.

“Go on, Yuuri,” says Victor. 

“Can I see your horns?” 

Victor raises an eyebrow. “What brought this on?”

“I never saw them until today,” says Yuuri. He spares a moment to be glad that the warmth of the bath has already sent a pink flush up his chest and throat, because it saves him from the physical evidence of his embarrassment. “I just—I wanted to see them.”

The corner of Victor’s mouth quirks up. But “Alright, darling,” is all he says. Yuuri watches in fascination as long, curved red horns seem to sprout from Victor’s forehead. They’re thicker at the bottom, tapering to sharp points at the tips. Yuuri glances at Victor for permission before reaching up to run his fingertips along the length of one; they feel tough and hard as any goat’s horn beneath his touch. 

Victor growls low in his throat at Yuuri’s touch, and Yuuri catches his breath. “Tease,” says Victor. His voice is playful, but there’s a rougher note in his voice that makes Yuuri’s stomach tighten.

“Are they sensitive?” Yuuri asks. 

“They are,” says Victor. “But that’s enough for now. No playtime until your wings have grown in and healed.”

Yuuri’s heart drops into his stomach at this pronouncement. His disappointment must show in his face, because Victor laughs and wraps his arms around Yuuri again, claiming his lips in a long, thorough kiss. Only a few seconds pass before Yuuri is melting against his lover, more than happy to sink into Victor’s particular brand of magic and sensuality. 

They languish sweetly together for several long minutes, kissing each other like drinking fine wine, until Yuuri has relaxed against Victor’s chest again. Only then does Victor pull back, stroking a hand over Yuuri’s hair. 

“You’re really going to make me wait?” Yuuri says in a soft voice. He’s trying not to sound petulant, but it’s hard.

“It’s the least you deserve, for scaring me like you did,” says Victor. His voice is mild, but the arm around Yuuri’s waist tightens just a hair. “But it won’t be fun for me, either. And I want you to heal, Yuuri. If your wings are really growing back, I don’t want to hurt them. Or you.”

Yuuri sighs. He knows Victor is right—he already saw how weak he was when he tried to fight off that corpse-demon earlier today—but the idea of being denied the particular sort of attention Victor loves to shower on him is a depressing one. 

Victor smiles at him, still carding his fingers through Yuuri’s wet hair. “My poor Yuuri,” he murmurs. “How much you’ve changed since I brought you home. You came to me so pure and innocent, and look at you now, so desperate for me to hurt you.”

“It feels good!” Yuuri says defensively. “And hey, it was you who asked me to—” 

“I know, I know!” Victor laughs, raising his hands in surrender. “It wasn’t a complaint!” 

Yuuri pouts at him. He’s honestly a little embarrassed by how frustrating the idea of having to wait is, but the reality is that he never gets better sleep than when Victor has wrung him out like a wet towel. He’s never known better peace than the kind that Victor gives him after a really intense play session, never been as content as when his only job is to be Victor’s pet. It’s so much easier, so much _happier_ , than what his life used to be.

Victor’s still watching him. Whatever he sees in Yuuri’s face makes him soften a little. “Don’t worry, dear one,” he says in a low voice. “I can still give you the solace you crave.”

Yuuri’s eyes widen. “Wh—how did you—”

“One of heaven’s most beautiful children wanders alone in front of my home, with heavy heart and shorn wings, and gives me no resistance whatsoever when I offer to relieve him of his purity and virtue,” says Victor. “What else should I think?”

Yuuri swallow hard. But Victor’s voice is as kind as his face. “I already told you, Yuuri. Whatever it is you want to leave behind, I’ll help you forget it. I’ll keep you safe. All I want is you.” 

“Victor,” says Yuuri. His voice shakes a little bit; he has to take a deep breath before he can continue. “Please, Master. I need it.”

“Alright,” says Victor. “Let’s get out of the water, though. I’d rather have you in my bed for this.”

Yuuri is mystified by this, but he does as Victor says. He finds he’s strong enough after their rest to get out of the bath without much help, though Victor bundles him into a large, fluffy towel almost immediately. They retire to Victor’s bedroom; Yuuri wonders if Victor is going to have Yuuri sleep in his bed from now on, considering recent events.

They settle on Victor’s huge, King-sized bed, Victor drawing Yuuri into his lap again. Victor kisses over his face, gently cupping the back of Yuuri’s head with one hand as his mouth moves down Yuuri’s lips, his jaw. He tilts Yuuri’s head back, exposing his neck, leaving wet, sucking kisses as he continues to move down, and Yuuri shivers at the sudden attention Victor is paying to the vulnerable spread of his throat.

“You’re so beautiful,” Victor murmurs; Yuuri can feel the vibration in his voice box. “And you taste so good, Yuuri. I’ve been wanting to try this for awhile… but I didn’t want to scare you.” 

Scare me? Yuuri wonders what in the world _that_ could possibly mean, but honestly at this point he thinks there’s very little Victor could do that would actually frighten him. His lover may be a demon, but Yuuri’s seen far too much of how tender and careful Victor is with him to truly find him frightening—his appearance that morning notwithstanding. “You can do anything you want to me, Victor,” Yuuri says, and lets his eyes slide shut.

Victor groans against his throat; for a moment Yuuri thinks he feels something strangely sharp against his skin, right above where Victor’s collar sits. “The things you do to me,” Victor murmurs. Before Yuuri can respond, Victor bites down on his throat, sharp teeth piercing the skin, and Yuuri’s mind snaps.

It’s _bliss_. He sags against Victor, completely derailed by the waves of sensation taking over his body. After that first moment of stabbing pain, he’s now overcome with warmth and pleasure and the sensation of his skin coming alive, every single nerve lighting up. His limbs get heavy, and a wonderful tingling spreads through his body, radiating out from where Victor’s mouth is still pressed against his throat. 

Yuuri can feel wetness at his throat—knows that Victor is drinking of him much more literally right now than he normally would—but he’s not in the least bit frightened. “Master,” he sighs. He’s rewarded with Victor’s hand in his hair, nails scratching lightly at Yuuri’s scalp. Yuuri makes a happy noise in the back of his throat, and he feels Victor’s low laugh where his mouth is fastened to Yuuri’s neck. 

They stay like that for awhile, Yuuri floating on the pleasure that’s flooded his body, like being drunk on rich wine. Finally, after some amount of time Yuuri can’t possibly guess at—minutes? Hours?—Victor pulls back. Yuuri can feel him lapping at the spot on Yuuri’s throat where he’s been drinking, and then Victor finally leans up until he can meet Yuuri’s eyes.

Yuuri stares at his lover, temporarily dazed. Victor looks stunning, positively radiant. His silver hair seems almost to glow with a light of its own, and his eyes have never looked so brilliantly blue, or his face so handsome. A surprisingly small smear of blood at his lips is the only thing that mars his appearance. 

“How are you feeling, Yuuri?” Victor asks, smiling down at him. He strokes Yuuri’s hair out of his face, cupping his cheek in one hand. 

Yuuri has to think about the question for a moment, blinking slowly. “Feel so good,” he says, and beams at Victor. “You’re so beautiful, Victor…”

Victor laughs. “That’s because I got to drink from you, sweet thing,” he says. “You taste so wonderful. And I knew you were strong, but I didn’t know _how_ strong.”

“Don’t want to be strong,” says Yuuri. “I left that behind. Just want to be yours now.”

Victor’s expression softens into something that Yuuri can’t interpret, not now in the depths of his bliss. “Don’t worry, Yuuri,” he says. “You’re all mine. And I promise I won’t let you leave me.”

He leans down to kiss over Yuuri’s face. Yuuri shuts his eyes, more than happy to surrender to Victor’s warmth, his pleasure and his protection. Victor’s arms slide around him, holding Yuuri securely in his lap, and Yuuri thinks that if he’s allowed, he’ll stay here like this until the world ends. 

Yuuri falls asleep like that, cradled in Victor’s arms, lulled to sleep by Victor’s soft voice in his ear. His last conscious thought before sleep is that he never expected to enjoy how frightening his lover could be, but now nothing makes him feel safer.

* * * * *

Yuuri turns out to be right; his wings come in over the next few weeks, slow and painful and awkward. Meanwhile, Victor is as good as his word—he doesn’t so much as spank Yuuri’s ass even once, which Yuuri is very frustrated by. They do at least have a fair bit of sex, mostly because Yuuri is so demanding that Victor gives up on trying to deter him. Usually their love-making ends with Victor drinking of him—either from his lips as they slowly kiss, or directly from his veins. It’s enough to keep Yuuri settled, to soothe the agitation that grows under his skin if he’s left too long to his own thoughts and devices.

Victor dotes on Yuuri the entire time. He keeps Yuuri fed and warm, sitting with him or taking him out on brief excursions to the human world when Yuuri grows too bored with being stuck in the manor. 

(Yuuri is very pleased that his collar is so visible on these trips, a glittering choker around his neck that draws many admiring eyes. The humans might not be able to see Victor’s horns or Yuuri’s growing wings, but they aren’t immune to their unearthly beauty, especially when Victor is vain enough to take Yuuri out shortly after drinking from him. Victor is always unreasonably gorgeous for a few hours after feeding. Not that Yuuri minds.)

Victor also checks on Yuuri’s growing wings multiple times a day—examining them for any sore spots or irritation, gently massaging Yuuri’s aching muscles. He got some medicine for Yuuri the day he left the manor, when Yuuri bolted in a panic. And while he has skillfully avoided telling Yuuri exactly what the ointment is or how he got it, Yuuri can’t find it in him to mind too much. Whatever the stuff is, it smells like mint and tea tree oil, and does more to ease the itching and soreness of his growing wings than anything else they have or do.

But the return of the wings themselves isn’t the only surprising thing about them.

“What color were your wings before, Yuuri?” Victor asks him one day. 

“White,” says Yuuri. 

“I thought as much,” says Victor. “I wonder why they’re different now…”

Yuuri is stretched out on the couch, his face and arms in Victor’s lap; his wings are extended to their full length, and Victor is picking gently through them, smoothing out errant feathers and gently scratching along the spots where Yuuri tells him it itches.

He peeks over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of his left wing. Victor’s not wrong—instead of the pure white they were before, Yuuri’s wings are now more variegated: black shading to a barred white and then black again at the flight feathers, like an osprey’s or some other great bird of prey. Not even Yuuri can deny how lovely they are. 

“I honestly don’t know,” says Yuuri. “I’ve never known any angel to have wings that grew back.”

“Yet another reason you’re special,” says Victor with obvious satisfaction. Yuuri huffs and hides his face in his arms to hide the way his cheeks are turning pink. “Ah, Yuuri, I wanted to tell you—I’m having some guests come by in a few days.”

Yuuri’s pleased embarrassment abruptly turns sour. He lifts his head again to look at Victor. “Guests?”

“Some friends of mine I haven’t seen in awhile,” Victor says. He strokes a hand down Yuuri’s back, clearly trying to reassure him, but Yuuri isn’t feeling it. “I want to show you off.”

“Ah,” says Yuuri. 

“Don’t worry, my darling,” says Victor. “Everything will be fine.”

* * * * *

Everything is not fine.

Victor is starting to wonder if he made some kind of mistake, inviting his friends over to visit. He couldn’t really help himself; he’s been absent from his normal social circles for almost three months now, totally distracted by his beautiful pet and then caught up in helping Yuuri heal as his wings came in. He’d been gone so long that his friends were starting to clamor, demanding that he show his face at their dwellings, or come out for some revelry. 

(“I want to see this boy of yours,” Mila had said, when she’d rang up Victor just the week before—her head appearing magically in the fires Victor summoned at her call, like all demons use for long-distance communication. “He must truly be something to keep you cooped up for so long.”

“He’s truly remarkable,” was Victor’s proud response. The only reason he didn’t summon Yuuri into the room there and then to show him off was that his darling was resting.)

But Victor had zero intention of leaving Yuuri home alone again. Even though he’s been reassured on the subject of whether Yuuri wants to be here as much as Victor wants him to stay, he’s still shaken by having come home to find his darling vanished into the ether. 

So, now that Yuuri’s finally well enough that he can actually hide his wings again at will, Victor decided to host a party of his own. He’s been looking forward to the opportunity to show off his beautiful angel, for everyone to see the boy who’s become his whole world. 

In retrospect, he should really have thought to ask Yuuri how he felt about having a party.

Victor shakes his head, trying to dispel the uneasiness that’s been sitting on him like a shroud for the past half-hour or so. By all outer appearances, his party is going splendidly. His manor home has been decorated from top to bottom: every candle lit, the furnishings polished until they gleam like embers in the fire, a sinfully delicious spread of food on offer for his guests, covering a banquet table from end to end. 

There’s close to fifty infernal creatures here tonight, ranging from lowly pucks and goblins to several elegant Jinni, as well as several demons of Victor’s kind, incubi and succubi. Everyone came in their demonic finest; from glittering cocktail gowns and sharp suits to the arc of burnished horns and huge scaled wings. And for the most part, his guests are happy to mingle and eat his fine food and drink, or to sit and listen to the violin sonatas being performed in his lounge.

Victor himself in his handsomest three-piece suit, tailor-made by some Italian human who clearly bargained with some other demon for the gift required to make such elegant creations. Victor’s suit is dark grey and fitted over a crisp white shirt, with a deep blue tie and matching pocket square, and lapels sharp enough to cut one’s hands on. 

(There’s always a few demons who can’t so much as take a breath without flirting with Victor, however. Lady Sybil—a demoness almost as old as Victor and thrice as wicked—has been at his elbow all night, whispering praise in his ear. 

“Victor, darling, you really must let me take you out to Mandragoria,” she says. Her voice is practically a purr, one of her arms looped through his as she strolls with him from room to room. “It’s been ages since we danced on the beach, I’ve missed you terribly.”

“I know, Sybil,” Victor says, and carefully extricates his arm even as she pouts at him. “It’s dreadful of me, but I’ve just been so busy. Perhaps another time.”)

His Yuuri is by far the main attraction, however. Victor did let Yuuri pick what he wanted to wear, and to his surprise and delight, Yuuri chose one of the elegant evening gowns Victor had picked out as an option. It’s of some heavy, silky fabric in a dark navy—Victor picked his tie to match—all covered with glittering stones that wink like the stars of heaven. Form-fitting but modestly cut across the front, the back has a deep V, dipping almost to Yuuri’s perfect ass, leaving ample space for his demurely folded wings. As a final touch, the dress has a long train that slinks behind Yuuri everywhere he walks.

The only other decoration he wears is Victor’s collar fastened around his lovely neck. With his perfect skin, his dark hair, and his soulful eyes, Victor can’t imagine how any of his friends could possibly resist his boy, but luckily they all know better than to try and touch Yuuri while he’s under Victor’s protection. 

But Yuuri has been—off, for lack of a better word. He hasn’t said much at all, staying quietly at Victor’s side the whole evening. Every time Victor glances over at him, Yuuri has a pensive look on his face, and he can’t seem to catch Yuuri’s eyes, which are demurely downcast. It’s not like Yuuri at all.

Time to stop his pointless musing. Victor leads Yuuri over to the side of the room before sitting down on the couch in front of him. He peers up into Yuuri’s face, even reaching up to catch Yuuri’s cheek with his hand, but Yuuri’s gaze still skitters sideways. 

“Yuuri,” says Victor. No response; Victor frowns. “Yuuri, looks at me.” This time his voice is sterner, a little threat injected into the words, and Yuuri finally turns his eyes down to meet Victor’s. “Yuuri, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” says Yuuri. His voice is curiously neutral, but something in the tightness of his shoulders makes Victor smell trouble. 

“You’re upset about something,” Victor says, trying once more. “What happened?”

Yuuri hesitates, and for a split second Victor’s heart lifts, but then Yuuri sets his jaw. “It’s fine, Master,” Yuuri says; there’s an insolence to his voice that Victor’s never heard. “If you want to go enjoy your party, you should.”

Victor stares. Yuuri’s cheeks pinken ever so slightly, and he drops his gaze again and looks away. I’ll have to deal with this later, Victor thinks to himself; he’s not going to get into this in the middle of an evening meant for the entertainment of his friends and acquaintances. “Very well,” says Victor. “Please be good, my darling.” 

“Yes, Master,” Yuuri says obediently. Victor is glad that when he stands up and bends down to get a kiss, Yuuri still tilts his head to meet him, still kisses him back sweet and soft. 

It isn’t enough to save him from Victor’s punishment later, but it still gladdens Victor’s heart. 

Victor leaves him there, goes to mingle with his friends and guests, but try as he might his heart isn’t in it. He’s always loved to play the good host, loved to throw a party that no one will forget for a hundred years, and this one promises to head in that direction if he lets it. Christophe and Georgi and Mila are already in their cups, having polished off five bottles of fine Stygian absinthe between the three of them since they arrived. 

Demons, of course, do not get drunk in nearly the same way humans do. But they can still enjoy the taste and the ensuing buzz, and Christophe is already making noise about some delightfully debauched game he’s learned in France—something about cards and underwear and sex toys. It sounds fun, Victor thinks. Or it would be, if he weren’t so distracted.

“Bring that sweet boy of yours out here, Victorrrrrrr,” Christophe croons in his ear. “Show us how good he is at making you happy, he’s been such a sour-puss all night!”

Victor forces a smile; he hopes it isn’t as much of a rictus as it feels. “He’s not feeling well,” he says—or starts to. He’s cut off mid-sentence by an anguished shriek from somewhere else in the house, followed closely by the stink of magic.

Divine magic.

All of the hairs on Victor’s body stand up at once. He turns and bolts through the house, pushing past his startled guests until he makes it to the hallway and stops dead at the sight that greets his eyes.

Lady Sybil stands in the center of an activated spell, a five-pointed star surrounded by a circle; runes are inscribed all around the star, along the inner edge of the circle. The lines of the spell burn with holy light, and Sybil cowers in the center of it, her arms over her face. The power that fills the room is incredible; Victor has to fight to keep from reeling at the waves of energy that roll over him.

Yuuri stands off to the right, staring at Sybil with an indescribable expression on his face. His eyes burn, the light in them pulsing with the same power that’s inscribed in the devil’s trap he’s laid. 

Victor’s stomach twists and turns over. “Yuuri!” he snaps. “Release her! Right now!”

Yuuri’s gaze snaps up to him. His eyes go wide for a second, and then his expression hardens. “No,” he says. And before Victor can even find his speech, he’s turned on his heel and swept off up the stairs at the other end of the hall they’re in.

“Yuuri—!” It’s too late, he’s already gone. 

Victor grits his teeth. His first impulse is to stalk after Yuuri and drag him back downstairs, force him to apologize, to beg, to prostrate himself for embarrassing Victor like this. But he already knows it won’t go how he wants it to, and his first priority is Sybil. All around him is chaos, his guests exclaiming and backing away in fear from the demon trap, while others sound more angry. 

He throws his hands out, eyes blazing with hellfire for just a moment. Power flares in his hands, then assaults the demon trap. For a few moments, the divine energy in the spell surges, filling the room with white light, everyone throwing their arms up to shield their faces—for one split second Victor is sure breaking the spell will shatter Sybil along with it—and then the spell simply fades, like all the water running out of a drain.

Victor lets out a ragged breath. He knows, in that instant, that Yuuri must have felt him trying to break the spell, and rather than force it Yuuri let it drop from wherever he’s gone to in the house. Victor also knows that if he’d tried to actually break the spell against Yuuri’s wishes, it _would_ have killed Sybil—maybe even leveled his manor.

He had no idea Yuuri was so strong. 

The demoness in question stumbles out of the cooling trap, wild-eyed and dazed; Victor is there to catch her, sliding an arm around her shoulders to keep her from simply collapsing. “Here,” says a voice, Mila appearing at Victor’s elbow as if summoned. “I’ll help her, don’t worry. Go on.”

“That angel of yours needs a lesson in manners,” growls another guest, close at hand. “I could teach him some respect, if you like.”

Victor ignores the other demon for a moment, carefully letting Mila take Sybil’s weight before he turns his attention to the speaker. He draws himself up, his smile frosty, letting icy disdain drip from every pore. The demon who spoke is merely an acquaintance—Victor’s met him perhaps once before. Modai, Victor thinks his name is; a demon of wrath. He’s watching Victor with an ugly expression on his face, one that says he’d enjoy getting to teach Yuuri a lesson far too much for Victor’s comfort. 

“That won’t be necessary,” says Victor. “Though I thank you for the offer. Now if you’ll excuse me.” Victor turns without waiting for an answer, forcing himself to keep a measured pace as he walks up the stairs. 

Thankfully, Christophe and Georgi and Mila will hold down the fort for him without him having to ask. He just needs a few minutes—though to do what, he isn’t even sure.

Victor reaches the landing at the top of the stairs and turns right, passing into the hallway that leads to the bedchambers. Once he’s out of sight, he stops, reaching out to rest a hand on the wall and leaning into it. 

“Yuuri,” he hisses to himself. “Why are you doing this?”

But even as he voices the question, he flashes on the way Yuuri wouldn’t look at him almost all evening. His Yuuri has been quiet ever since Victor told him he was having a party, actually. Victor had thought he was just nervous, but clearly there was something more at work.

In his mind he sees the wrath demon’s malevolent smile again, hears the sinister pleasure in his voice as he offers to teach Yuuri some respect. Victor’s stomach tightens. He’d rather pluck out his own eyes than let someone touch Yuuri, hurt Yuuri, but the thought of that creature in particular having his way with Victor’s dear one sends a chill through him darker than any plague of Hell. 

It’s all too easy to picture what a beast like Modai would do to Yuuri: crush him underfoot, break him apart until all that’s left is a hollow shell. There’d be no trace of his sweet submission, no echo of his bright laugh. Victor shudders.

The vision of his dear one broken in such a way takes all the wind out of him, Victor’s irritation draining as surely as the power drained from Yuuri’s demon-trap before Victor could overcome it. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

Victor still wishes Yuuri had fucking _told_ him what was wrong instead of acting out so childishly, but—but he’s entrusted himself to Victor’s care. Victor is supposed to protect him, care for him, not dangle him like bait for uglier creatures to lust after. He has to do better. And if he’s not careful, Yuuri may decide he’s lost the taste for this thing they have between them.

Victor shakes his head. For now, he needs to at least lay eyes on Yuuri. He resumes walking down the hallway, the sounds of the his guests growing distant as he walks deeper into the bedroom wing.

He finds Yuuri not in the master bedroom, where he’d expected him to be, but in one of the unused guest bedrooms. The only clue Yuuri leaves is a black feather on the floor in the hall a few feet from the guest bedroom door, which has been left just slightly ajar. 

Victor slows as he comes to the door, gently pushing it open to find the room almost completely dark. “Yuuri?”

A soft sniffle from deeper in the room reaches his ears. Victor pushes the door open, and in the shaft of light let in from the hallway he sees Yuuri sitting on the floor against the far wall. Yuuri is curled up in a ball, his knees against his chest, his beautiful wings folded around him. 

Another sniffling sound comes; the wings flex, wrapping more tightly around Yuuri, as though trying to hide him from Victor’s sight. Victor lets out a breath. He comes into the room, padding quietly across the floor and crouching beside his lover. “Yuuri,” he begins, and then Yuuri tumbles over at his feet and starts to cry.

“I’m s-sorry, Victor I’m so sorry, I s-shouldn’t have done that—” Yuuri’s voice is so wobbly he can barely get the words out. His head is down, shoulders hunched, his slight frame shaking as he tries to talk through his tears. “I d-didn’t mean to hurt her but s-sh-she wouldn’t—she kept—all night she kept _touching_ you, and I just—I couldn’t—!”

Victor is speechless. “Yuuri,” he manages, and bends over to gather Yuuri into his arms. Yuuri clings to his arms as Victor pulls him close, until he’s cradled against Victor’s chest, his tears wetting Victor’s expensive silk shirt. 

He rocks Yuuri back and forth until Yuuri has cried himself out a little. He hears Yuuri take a deep breath, trying to collect himself, and only then does Victor sit back, staring down into his darling’s tear-stained face. 

“Is that why you did this?” he asks. “You were jealous?” Yuuri winces and looks down, but Victor isn’t having it. He loves Yuuri more dearly than he would ever like to admit, but he’s not going to let this pass. “Yuuuuuri.” 

“Of course I was jealous,” Yuuri whispers. He sounds unhappy now, as opposed to wrecked, but he’s still leaning into Victor, fingertips still digging into Victor’s arm in a vise-grip of desperation, as though afraid to let him go. “You—you had this big party full of friends, full of demons and spirits, and who knows what else, and all of them are flirting with you, and all of them are laughing at me like I’m just…” He trails off. 

“They were admiring you,” Victor says, trying to ignore the sudden pang of guilt at hearing how this situation felt from Yuuri’s point of view. He’s astonished that Yuuri could somehow miss the appreciative looks cast his way all night, the whispers in Victor’s ear of how lucky he was to ensnare a creature so lovely. “They wanted you for themselves.”

“I heard Sybil ask someone why you were wasting your time on ‘something like that’ when you could have anyone here,” says Yuuri, and there’s no disguising the bitterness in his voice. “And two others wondered loudly why you were still so preoccupied with me when you should have tired of me weeks ago.”

Victor winces. That… does sound like Sybil. And he’d tried not to notice the whispers of the lesser demons, dismissed them as mere jealousy, but apparently Yuuri hadn’t been so easily able to ignore it. He should have paid better attention, he thinks. Victor’s fault.

“I had this party because I wanted to show you off, Yuuri,” says Victor. Yuuri looks up at him again, staring at Victor with those big dark eyes that do such awful things to his heart. “I wanted to show everyone how beautiful and special you are.”

“I don’t want everyone else to see,” says Yuuri, and sniffles. “I just want to be yours.” He wipes his arm across his face, which by now is red and splotchy from crying; it’s altogether unattractive. Victor’s chest aches with how much he loves him for it. 

Victor sighs. “You should have told me,” he murmurs.

“I know,” says Yuuri miserably. “I”m sorry, Victor.” He goes quiet, and for a few moments they just sit there. Victor is searching for what to say next when Yuuri’s hand sneaks into his, small and warm. 

“Victor,” says Yuuri, and then swallows. “Are you very mad at me?”

Victor lets out a slow breath. “You could have seriously hurt one of my guests, Yuuri,” he says, his voice measured. “And you embarrassed me in front of the entire party. So… yes, I’m upset.”

“Oh,” says Yuuri. Victor watches him bite his lip, struggling with what to say, what to do. “Are you—are you going to make me leave?”

“I would rather die under the archangel’s spear than give you up,” Victor says. Yuuri lets out a soft noise and covers his mouth with the hand not holding Victor’s. Victor leans in and kisses Yuuri’s temple, and startles a little when Yuuri’s arms go around his neck, clinging tightly to him. 

Victor wraps his arms around Yuuri too, his hands sliding against the softness of Yuuri’s wings, and for a moment he allows himself to revel in this, to treasure Yuuri’s warmth, his devotion. Finally he pulls back, stroking the hair out of Yuuri’s face. 

“Don’t be sad, my darling,” he whispers. Yuuri sniffles, and Victor wipes the tears that are still leaking from his eyes, brushing his thumb tenderly along his cheek. “We’ll make it right.”

“You’re going to have to punish me,” Yuuri says. His voice sounds wet, muffled.

Victor raises an eyebrow. “Is that what you want?”

Yuuri shivers. “Yes, Master,” he whispers, and Victor goes half-hard in his trousers right there.

He feels—wrong, almost, for relishing the idea, which is a new sensation all by itself, but by now Yuuri has made a regular habit of teaching Victor new ways to feel. For any of the other men or women he’d brought home, today’s offense would have been grounds for immediate dismissal; he wouldn’t tolerate this kind of behavior for any reason. But Yuuri is different. It seems Yuuri is always different. The idea of letting Yuuri go hurts worse than anything his fellows might say or do.

The punishment will be—well, he’ll come up with something. Victor doesn’t actually want Yuuri to dislike anything Victor does to him, no matter what they play at, but he will make sure his darling remembers the event, regardless. 

“Alright,” says Victor. “I think you should stay up here for the rest of the night. I’m going to leash you in my bedroom, darling, and I want you to stay put and be good.”

Yuuri shivers at this, but all he says is an obedient “Yes, Master.”

Victor picks him up, carrying him to their shared bedroom and laying him out in the bed. True to his word, he fastens a leash to Yuuri’s collar and the other end to a fixture above the head of the bed. If Victor had more time, he’d tie each of Yuuri’s hands and feet to the four corners of the bed, put a cock ring on him, and stuff him with a vibrator to torment him, but Victor rather badly wants to get back downstairs to the party and manage things.

So he settles for the next best thing. He pulls Yuuri into his lap, tilts his head back, and drinks from him until Yuuri goes heavy and languid in his arms. Victor lays him out on the bed, admiring the stain of red on his lovely throat, and the appealing way the dress splays out around his body on the bedsheets. Then he heads back downstairs, making sure plenty of eyes are on him as he carelessly wipes blood from his mouth.

“Oh, Victor,” breathes Christophe as he catches sight. “You really _do_ have that boy trained after all. I never thought I’d see the day an angel would let you feed off him.”

“He knows his place,” says Victor, because _I’m just lucky he thinks it’s at my side_ seems a poor choice to admit out loud. “Now. Where’s the absinthe?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ Yuuri is wearing [this lovely dress](http://koscheiis.tumblr.com/post/135579715103/runwayandbeauty-zuhair-murad-haute-couture-spring#notelist), recommended to me by my shameless enabler and dear friend Melly.  
> \+ Victor is more or less wearing [this suit](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/94/ff/3d/94ff3d3793a864f4147320db90ec658e.jpg).  
> \+ I chose the most amusing (to me) name for a [Saint Andrew's Cross](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saint_Andrew%27s_Cross_\(BDSM\)), which is a staple in BDSM dungeons and has many different names it goes by.


	3. Andante

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor punishes Yuuri for his transgressions at the party, and then all is well. Until it's not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNINGS - READ ME!!**
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> This chapter is 50% porn. In particular, be aware that the scene contains humiliation kink and some intense D/s moments, including some namecalling; as before, everything is completely consensual, but the scene is intense. In addition, this chapter is where the fic gets its "angst" and "implied/referenced self-harm" tags from. 
> 
> Sorry this took a little while! As you might have guessed, this chapter is a doozy, and I wanted to get it exactly right. Thanks for your patience, and thank you also to my extremely nit-picky beta, who is dedicated enough to never let me get away with lazy bullshit.

It’s another few hours before the party finally winds down. Victor is able to charm almost all of his guests, reassure demons great and small as to the docility of his pet angel. So great is his allure that he’s even able to persuade Sybil to forgive him, though he doesn’t think Sybil will be willing to tolerate being in Yuuri’s presence any time soon.

“Next time we see each other will be on the beaches of Asteria,” she purrs in his ear as he sees her to the door. “Till then, my love!”

At last, Victor’s massive front door swings shut on the last guest with a sonorous clang, leaving him standing in the middle of his now-empty hall. The silence washes over him, deep and complete, and Victor takes a slow breath.

It’s late. Even after the long drink he took from Yuuri before, Victor is tired. He’d forgotten how these events tend to wear him out, how at the end of these evenings all he ever wants to do is lay himself out in bed and sleep for a week. It’s one reason he’s done them less in recent decades, even before he came across a lovely lost angel wandering lonely as a cloud through his realm.

Now said angel is upstairs, waiting for him. With a few hours to cool him off further, Victor no longer has any real desire to punish Yuuri, to exact retribution for his misbehavior. Master and pet is the relationship they play at, the bond that Victor thought to create when he first asked Yuuri to come to his manor. Victor has kept other pretty pets before, usually human men or women—people who catch his fancy for a time, until they tire of being his toy or (more often) Victor tires of having them, and he sends them on their way.

But Yuuri is different. Tonight has shown Victor that Yuuri is far more to him than a beautiful toy or temporary diversion—no matter what his fellows might think of him for harboring such feelings about an angel, if they knew the truth. He was angry at Yuuri at first for being so childish in front of his guests, but now that he’s realized Yuuri was motivated out of _jealousy_ , of all things, Victor’s decided he wouldn’t have it any other way. He wants Yuuri to be as jealous as Victor is of him, as possessive, as greedy. 

Whatever their initial agreement, whatever ideas Victor once had about trapping an angel to keep as a pet, he’s long since recognized that it’s unlikely he could keep Yuuri here if he wanted to go—which makes it that much better that Yuuri is here of his own will. Victor wants him to stay that way, to remain here because he prefers Victor’s arms to anywhere else in heaven or hell.

All Victor really wants is to go upstairs, gather Yuuri up, and kiss him until they lose track of where one of them ends and the other begins. He wants to ask Yuuri to promise him that if he’s upset with something Victor wants to do, next time he’ll _tell_ Victor first, so Victor’s dreams aren’t dogged by nightmares of Yuuri turning from him in regret or anger.

But that isn’t how tonight is going to go. Victor walks slowly up the stairs, feeling the wood of the bannister under his hands, listening for any tell-tale sounds that might show Yuuri is awake again. No matter how much Victor would rather end tonight on a sweeter note, Yuuri already told Victor what he wants.

No—what he needs. 

As much as Victor loves taking Yuuri apart, Yuuri has come to downright crave it. Victor still doesn’t know what darkness in Yuuri’s past still stalks him or if he’s simply always been so anxious and hard on himself, but either way, whatever Yuuri needs from him, Victor will bleed himself dry to provide it. 

Victor makes just one stop en route to their bedroom, long enough to change his clothes into the outfit he needs for their scene. He figures that if Yuuri’s asleep, waiting a little longer won’t bother him, and if he’s awake, ten minutes extra will only help the anticipation. And sure enough, when Victor comes into the room, Yuuri is sitting up. He’s still leashed to the bed, right where Victor left him, and despite his fatigue Victor’s cock stirs in his pants at the sight of such an inviting picture: his beautiful boy still in his star-strewn dress, hair messy from sleep, a lovely bruise purpling at his throat just above his collar, from where Victor drank of him earlier.

But more important at the moment is the look on Yuuri’s face. He fidgets as Victor comes in, leaning forward ever so slightly; his eyes are just a little too bright, a tightness present in his jaw that speaks of the tension he’s holding in his body. Victor slows, regarding Yuuri for a few long moments. He watches as Yuuri straightens, correcting his posture automatically—he sits back on his haunches, his feet under his butt, hands tucked behind him at the small of his back, eyes cast demurely downward.

“That’s better,” says Victor. He keeps his voice deliberately cool, reserving his usual warmth. “I was wondering if you would have even a shred of remorse for the way you acted.”

Yuuri catches his breath; his cheeks flush pink at the reproach. There’s a handful of moments where Victor wonders if he made the wrong call, if they needed to talk first before doing this, but then Yuuri bends forward, presenting himself on the bed. His arms reach out before him, elongating the line of his back as he lifts his ass, and to Victor’s delight Yuuri’s great black wings emerge, folding close to his body. 

He’s the picture of submission and deference. Victor craves him like a drug.

“Master, I’m sorry for how I acted,” says Yuuri. He sounds breathless, a little shaky—almost eager. Victor guesses he probably is. “Please punish me, so I can be your good boy again.”

Victor spares a moment to be glad that Yuuri’s eyes are downcast, so he can’t see how his sweetly-phrased request affects Victor, who is supposed to be the one of them that’s in control. “I’m not convinced you’re sorry enough,” he says, slowly, measuring out his words. “I think you’re going to have to prove it.”

“Please, Master,” Yuuri says, and presses his face against the bed linens.

Instead of answering, Victor paces around the bed, examining his darling from all sides. He admires the way the dress pools out around Yuuri’s legs on the bed, how it clings to his shapely ass, like a swatch of starry sky wrapped around his thighs. Yuuri holds perfectly still, though Victor can tell he’s paying close attention from the very slight shake in his shoulders and arms.

He reaches out, trailing his fingers along Yuuri’s back, starting at the inviting dip where his spine meets his ass, fingers traveling right along the valley made between his wings, all the way down to the back of his head. There Victor digs his fingers into Yuuri’s hair, getting a firm grip and tightening it. Yuuri’s breath hitches; a tiny whimper escapes.

“Who do you belong to, boy?” Victor’s voice hardens.

“You, Master,” says Yuuri. His words are very slightly muffled where his face is pressed into the bed. Victor presses him down a little more firmly, and smiles when he gets a low groan in response. “I’m y-yours.”

“Are you? Then why did you act so shamefully before?” Victor shakes Yuuri just a little by the hair, earning another shaky, hitched noise in Yuuri’s throat. “You embarrassed me in front of my guests.”

Yuuri moans. Victor watches the bare flex of his fingers against the bed, the only movement in the whole length of his lovely body. “M-Master, I…”

“Answer me,” snaps Victor. This part will be the worst, he knows. But it’s important. Yuuri has to get it out, so Victor can punish him for it, and then Yuuri can be at peace.

For several seconds, Victor thinks he’s going to have to resort to crueler tactics. Yuuri shivers against the bed; Victor listens to the rattle of his breath in his throat, too rapid and shallow. Then Yuuri blurts, “I—I was jealous, Master.”

Victor is silent, though he keeps his hand where it is, grounding his boy. Yuuri swallows once before continuing. “I, l wanted to be the only one you look at. I—I hated watching other people flirt with you. I was afraid…”

He trails off, and Victor sees him shut his eyes, his face red. It’s so tempting to let him off the hook, but Victor knows by now that if he doesn’t help Yuuri purge it, whatever it is will fester until they have it out. So he reaches down with the hand not gripping Yuuri’s hair, pulling Yuuri’s dress up over his hips to expose his butt and thighs. Yuuri has just a moment to gasp in surprise before Victor brings the flat of his hand down against Yuuri’s bare ass, drawing out a shocked cry.

“Say it, boy,” says Victor. He spanks Yuuri twice more in sharp succession, and Yuuri hiccoughs, his ass bouncing so beautifully under Victor’s hand. “Tell me what’s bothering you.”

Yuuri’s voice hitches. He sounds on the verge of tears, and that’s good; Victor wants to see him bawling before the night is through. “I was afraid you’d see someone else you wanted more than me,” Yuuri whispers. 

He sounds so fragile that for one moment Victor’s control almost snaps; it’s all he can do to keep himself from sweeping Yuuri into his arms, to smother him in kisses and promise him that nothing would ever tempt Victor from his side—not demon, or human, or angel. But that’s not what Yuuri needs right now. He needs Victor to wring him out until he’s exhausted and clean. He’s trusted Victor with this part of himself, and Victor won’t betray that trust, no matter what.

“It seems my boy needs a lesson in faith,” says Victor, not unkindly. “If you really think I would ever have eyes for someone than other you, perhaps I’ve not been properly meeting your needs. We’ll have to remedy that.” He leans down, releasing Yuuri’s hair for just long enough to pet him like he might a spooked animal; Yuuri relaxes by fractions, eyelids fluttering shut under Victor’s gentle touch. 

“I’m going to break you, darling,” Victor says. His voice is barely above a whisper. “I’m going to take you apart, piece by piece, until you don’t hurt anymore. Okay?”

A shiver of something—anticipation, maybe—goes through Yuuri, light and quick; his breath catches in his throat. “Please, Master,” he whispers. Another couple of tears leak from the corners of his shut eyes, leaving shining trails down his cheeks. Victor leans in to kiss first one eye, then the other. 

When he stands up, the tenderness is gone, replaced by control. “Put your wings away, Yuuri,” he says. Yuuri exhales, and Victor watches as his wings simply retract, their huge span vanishing in a matter of seconds, leaving only smooth, bare back. Victor unleashes Yuuri, then has Yuuri sit up, helping him slither out of his beautiful dress so that he’s naked save for his collar. 

Victor can feel Yuuri’s eyes on him as he crosses the room to the huge oak cabinet against one wall, the one that houses all of their toys and accessories for playtime. Victor opens it, retrieving a bottle of lube and—after a few moments of perusing his options—a toy that he bought on their most recent trip to San Francisco. 

Humans have such delightful diversions, he’s found. For creatures whose lives are remarkably short and puerile, they’ve devised the most incredible ways to torment themselves and each other. Victor has to admire them, really. 

“Bend over and hold yourself open for me,” Victor says. Yuuri does as he’s told, face-down and ass-up similar to how he was before, but this time reaching behind to grip his own cheeks and pull them apart. Victor takes a moment to enjoy the way Yuuri’s face goes red as he puts himself in this position. It’s terribly wanton and exposed, which Yuuri forever has difficulty with no matter how much he clearly enjoys it when Victor makes him hold such positions. 

Victor sits behind him, snapping the bottle of lube open with practiced efficiency. He dribbles a generous amount of lube directly onto Yuuri’s pink hole, smiling at the gasp it earns him. Victor works the lube into Yuuri’s hole, one finger then two, and then he sets about slicking the toy he’s selected—a nice, medium-sized vibrator with a narrow middle and wide base, the better to sit securely in his boy’s ass and stay in place. The toy is curved like a pair of crooked fingers, designed to sit right against the sweet spot in Yuuri’s ass and drive him wild.

Victor presses the blunt head to Yuuri’s hole and watches in satisfaction as it slowly sinks in, some lube dribbling out alongside it. Yuuri groans against the bed as Victor stuffs him with the toy; Victor pushes against the base a few times to make sure it’s securely slotted before standing up. He wipes his hands off with a towel, collects the remote control for the toy, and walks across the room, his boot heels clicking smartly on the polished wood floor. 

He’s still in a suit, just a slightly different one, black with grey pinstripes tucked into tall riding boots. This one has the important distinction of being much easier to clean. Victor briefly considers telling Yuuri what they’re going to do, then decides against it. Better to keep his darling off-kilter, a little anxious, the better to rob of him of barriers and self-defenses. 

“Sit up,” he says, and Yuuri does. At the same time, Victor thumbs the lever on the remote straight to two, out of a total of six levels. Yuuri gasps, jumping a little as the vibrator buzzes to life; Victor doesn’t bother to hide his pleasure at seeing the way his boy fights to keep from squirming. 

“Crawl to me, boy,” Victor says. He injects a little cruelty into the words, an edge meant to cut. “Hands and knees. Show me how sorry you are.”

“Yes, Master,” says Yuuri; his voice is ever so slightly shaky. 

He crawls forward, off the bed and onto the floor, keeping on all fours just as he’s bid; Victor feels his dick throb in appreciation of the heat in Yuuri’s face as his boy makes his ungainly progress across the room. Despite Yuuri’s grace in almost all respects, there’s no way to make crawling look anything other than clumsy, which is exactly what Victor wants. By the time Yuuri has made it to Victor’s feet, his face is bright red, eyes downcast in humiliation—and anticipation. 

Victor chose a spot atop the plush carpet that covers much of the hardwood floor; his darling is made of sturdy stuff, to be sure, but there’s no reason for this to hurt in that particular way. As Yuuri reaches him, Victor reaches out, grabbing a fistful of Yuuri’s hair again. He shakes Yuuri very slightly, watching his eyes water and his breath hitch in what Victor knows is arousal. 

How much Yuuri enjoys having his hair pulled was one of the first clues Victor got at what a masochist his lovely angel actually is. He’s been more than happy to take advantage of it. Among other things. 

“I think you’ve forgotten what your role is here, boy,” Victor says. He draws the words out, watching the way Yuuri’s eyes hood as Victor’s thrall washes over him. “You have one job, and it’s to do what I tell you. To be my little toy, my _slut_.” Victor all but spits the last word, watches Yuuri shudder in response, his eyes tearing a little. “Are you my slut, Yuuri?”

“Y-Yes, Master,” says Yuuri, and swallows. “I, I’m…”

“Say it, boy.”

“I’m your slut, Master,” Yuuri manages. “I’m your pet.”

“That’s right,” says Victor. He tugs Yuuri closer, so that Yuuri’s face is against his hip, Yuuri’s weight leaning against Victor’s leg. Victor presses the front of his leg against Yuuri’s groin, grinning to himself as he feels the hardness there. 

“Oh, what’s this? Are you hard from this, Yuuri? Do you enjoy this?”

Yuuri shudders; Victor thinks it’s as much from the vibrator in his ass as from Victor’s tormenting words. “I do, Master,” he says. “I—I love everything you do to me.”

Victor bites the inside of his own cheek, hard enough to taste blood. It’s still not quite enough to kill the wash of emotion he feels, hearing Yuuri say those words in that dear, tremulous voice. _How do you do this to me every time?_ he wonders, even as he tightens his fingers in Yuuri’s hair. _How did I get so lucky, to have you wander into my life?_

“Good,” he says roughly. “You—that’s good.” He takes a deep breath, mastering himself; Yuuri needs him to be the one in control. He needs Victor to punish him, to take command of him—and, Victor thinks, to show him that no one else in Heaven or Hell has remotely the appeal that he does.

“Show Master how much you love him,” he says. It sounds more confident this time. Victor yanks hard at Yuuri’s hair, hard enough to make him cry out. “Right against my leg, Yuuri. Grind on me until you come. That’s what you want, isn’t it? To mark your territory like a dirty animal?”

Yuuri makes a noise, half-lost in Victor’s stomach; Victor can see the bright glimmer of tears, like pearls caught in his dark lashes. Then Yuuri surrenders, as he always does, shutting his eyes and pressing his face against Victor’s trousers as he starts to grind against Victor’s leg. Victor lets his eyes fall half-shut in satisfaction, lifting his leg slightly for his boy to rub against. 

He reaches into his pocket for the remote control, thumbing the vibrations up to three. Yuuri lets out a wrecked cry, hips jerking messily against Victor’s leg for just a moment before he falls back into his rhythm. With the vibrator in his ass and Victor’s hand in his hair, it doesn’t take him long for his breathing to grow ragged as his rubs himself against Victor’s boot. Yuuri comes with a choked-off moan, gasping in his throat as he spills messily down the polished leather.

Victor tsks, pulling Yuuri out from his leg. He makes a show of inspecting his boot and pants. He does not miss Yuuri’s downcast eyes or flushed cheeks, or the way Yuuri’s breathing is still ragged. 

“Lick up your mess,” Victor says. 

Yuuri’s head snaps up, eyes widening in shock. He’s trying and failing not to squirm, the vibrator in his ass still buzzing steadily, pressing right against his over-sensitive prostate.

Victor raises an eyebrow at him, lets a little malevolence seep into his voice. “Did I stutter, boy?”

“N-No, Master!” Yuuri flushes worse, dropping his gaze quickly as he drops to his hands. He lowers his head to Victor’s boot, nuzzling at his ankle, and then does as he’s bid. Victor stifles a groan at the sight of his pink tongue flicking out, cat-like, lapping up the streaks of come from the dark leather. 

“The whole boot, Yuuri,” Victor says roughly. Yuuri sniffles, his breath hitching, and Victor’s cock throbs. Yuuri’s so beautiful when he cries, so magnificent when he breaks apart. Yuuri laps up all of his own come, cleaning Victor’s boot until it’s black and shiny. Victor makes him do the other one too, nudging his face with his boot every time he misses a spot. By the time he’s done, Yuuri’s actually started to cry, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, his face red and splotchy with humiliation and arousal.

Victor leaves him there for just a moment, going back to the cupboard. He returns with a bottle of water and crouches by his boy, tugging Yuuri into the circle of his arms. Victor holds the water bottle to his mouth, coaxing him to take a few swallows, though some of it leaks down his chin. 

“Color?” Victor peers into Yuuri’s face, until Yuuri meets his eyes. Yuuri’s pupils are huge and dark, their normal brown swallowed up in black, but his expression still softens as Victor leans in close.

“Green, Master,” Yuuri says. He sniffles again, and Victor smiles. He leans in to kiss Yuuri right on the tip of his nose. 

“Good boy,” Victor murmurs. He coaxes Yuuri to drink a little more, then sets the water bottle aside and stands up, leaving Yuuri crouched on the floor in front of him. Yuuri’s gaze follows him, looking up at Victor as Victor unbuckles his pants and brings out his stiff cock. “Come here, Yuuri.”

Yuuri kneels up obediently. He puts a hand on Victor’s hip and tilts his face, parting his lips for Victor to guide his cock into that lovely mouth. “My sweet little slut,” Victor says, with difficulty. “Ah—there, that’s it. All of it, boy.”

His boy tilts his head a little more, bettering the angle, allowing Victor to press forward, until he’s sunk his cock in to the root. He groans, taking hold of Yuuri’s hair again as he rocks against Yuuri’s face, reveling in the wet heat of his cheeks and tongue. He can feel the silky clutch of Yuuri’s throat against the head of his cock as Yuuri fights his own gag reflex. Deep-throating is a skill Yuuri still hasn’t mastered, but Victor doesn’t mind at all. 

Yuuri’s eyes are watering already, and it just makes Victor harder. He grips Yuuri’s hair and starts to thrust, holding him in place as he fucks his mouth and throat. Yuuri gags despite his best efforts, but Victor keeps going, shoving his cock in deep as he can go before pulling out again, rough and fast. He thrusts in hard once, twice, three more times, and then he’s coming down Yuuri’s throat with a groan, spilling hard enough that he has to lock his knees to keep them from buckling instead.

Yuuri coughs and gags as Victor pulls out, panting. “Good boy,” Victor manages, stroking Yuuri’s hair, and watches as Yuuri’s eyelids flutter at the praise. Even as he tries to catch his breath, Yuuri is licking Victor’s cock clean, eyes hooding in obvious pleasure as he swallows all of Victor’s come that he can find. Victor has to suppress a shiver at the sensation, at the vision of his darling like this: red in the face and in tears, trembling from the vibrator in his ass, throat raw from Victor using him, and still hungry for more. 

“Alright,” Victor says; privately, he reminds himself that no matter what he has in store, he’ll have to do twice as much to match his Yuuri’s hunger. Playtime with Yuuri is always an exercise in endurance. “Warm-up’s over.”

Yuuri looks at him with those dark, blasted eyes; he shivers, and then he smiles. 

An hour later finds Victor on the bed with Yuuri across his lap, crying and gasping and trying not to claw at the sheets. Victor has his hands bound with silk ropes in front of him and his ass in the air, the vibrator still buzzing away in his now sore little hole. Another vibrator is on the ring around Yuuri’s cock, buzzing harshly against his over-sensitive prick even as it holds his erection, keeps him from flagging.

Yuuri’s come three more times for Victor—twice in Victor’s hand as Victor jerked him mercilessly, once down Victor’s throat, on his back with his thighs splayed open. He’s almost totally dry now, but Victor has no intention of letting him rest. They’re not nearly done yet.

“You earned this,” Victor says, and brings his hand down hard on Yuuri’s already-reddened ass. Yuuri moans, jerking forward slightly from the blow. His head hangs between his shoulders, but he knows better than to hide his face. Victor spanks him three more times, alternating between each cheek as he leaves sharp slaps across his abused behind. Yuuri sobs, fingers flexing uselessly. His face is a mess of tears and snot, splotchy and red and unlovely. 

Victor adores him.

“Why am I spanking you, Yuuri?” Victor’s hand stills, giving his boy a moment to recover, to try to get it out. 

Yuuri gulps. “B-Because—Because I’ve been bad, Master,” he says raggedly.

Victor spanks him three more times in rapid succession, drawing out a sharp cry. “Try again,” Victor says. He presses down on the base of the vibrating plug, pressing it against Yuuri’s sweet spot, and Yuuri _wails_ , barely managing to hold still where Victor has him positioned 

“I, I, I, I attacked one of your guests, Master, I m-made a huge scene—” Yuuri gulps, a few fresh tears spilling down his cheeks. 

Victor stills, petting over Yuuri’s back, his ass, his thighs. Yuuri sucks in a ragged breath and sighs, and then, as Victor hoped for, he continues. “I embarrassed you,” he whispers. “In front of your guests.”

“Good boy.” Victor pets him soothingly for just a few more moments. Then he reaches for the remote for the plug in Yuuri’s ass and thumbs it off. He sets that aside, before carefully tugging the plug out of Yuuri’s ass and setting that aside too. The cock-ring he leaves, for now; Yuuri hasn’t earned its removal just yet.

It’s the work of a few more moments for Victor to open his pants again and take out his own prick, slicking it quickly with some lube. Then he’s helping Yuuri kneel up, coaxing his boy to straddle his lap and sink down. Yuuri sighs as Victor’s cock presses into him, sliding in so easily after having had the plug inside him for so long. 

“That’s right, boy,” Victor murmurs. “Now you’re going to ride my cock like you’ve been craving. Show Master how sorry you are, how much you want to be here.”

Yuuri swallows. “Yes, Master,” he whispers. 

Victor leans back, holding onto Yuuri’s hips to help him keep his balance. Yuuri’s thighs flex, the muscles bunching so beautifully as he starts to fuck himself on Victor’s cock. He’s awkward, both from how worn out he is and from not having the use of his hands, but before long he’s got a regular rhythm, moaning and panting as he bounces on Victor’s cock like he was born to do it. He holds his still-bound wrists in front of him, the red silk against his skin making him look exactly like a present wrapped up for Victor to enjoy.

Yuuri’s face is flushed, his cock stiff and angry red from being held in arousal by the cock-ring, tears leaking down his cheeks as he sobs and moans and grinds on Victor’s cock. His mouth hangs open, a little bit of drool leaking from the corner of his lips as he tries to fuck himself harder. Only three thousand years’ worth of self-control is keeping Victor from coming on the spot, out of his mind with love and desire for this beautiful, impossible boy breaking apart in his lap.

“Tell Master why you’re crying, Yuuri,” Victor says roughly. “Do you hate this?”

“No!” Yuuri grinds down, clenching around Victor’s prick with a moan. “N-No, Master, I l-love it, I love you, I love you so much—”

Yuuri’s words cut him more deeply than knives, sharper than the angels’ spears. “Are you sorry for what you did?” Victor demands.

“Yes!” Yuuri sobs, throwing his head back as a fresh flood of tears comes, staining his beautiful cheeks. “I’m so sorry! I, I, a-ahhh, I’m sorry Master, please forgive me—”

Victor could not possibly care less if Yuuri is ever sorry for what he did to Sybil—maybe he should care, but being kind and sweet is not a demon’s purview, and the only reason he cares about much of anything at all these days is Yuuri himself. But _Yuuri_ cares. Yuuri cares so very much, and he seems to think he needs punishment, and absolution. Whether it’s for what he did at Victor’s party or for something else, Victor has no idea. But he’ll do everything in his power to give that to him. 

His boy is openly weeping now, still fucking himself on Victor’s cock, but he’s—finally—almost completely out of gas. With this last tearful admission, Victor takes over. He sits up, pulling Yuuri into his arms and bearing him down onto the bed, hedging Yuuri in with his whole body. Victor presses in, re-seating himself inside Yuuri, keeping him grounded, full, safe. 

Yuuri cries out, eyes wide and glassy, and Victor strokes his hair, kissing him and petting him, like soothing a startled colt. “Shh, darling,” Victor says. Exhaustion and emotion are creeping into his voice, robbing him of his hard-won control, but Victor doesn’t care. “I have you, you’re mine. You belong to me, and I forgive you.”

At this, Yuuri makes a wet noise. He blinks, long lashes fluttering against his wet cheeks as he labors to catch his breath. “Is it really okay?” he asks after a moment, voice thick. “Do you still want me? Master, I’m—I’ve been so—”

“I punished you,” Victor says firmly. “Everything is forgiven. There is nothing you could do that would make me not want you.” Yuuri stares at him, his eyes huge and dark; finally he nods, and seems to soften, though he doesn’t tear his eyes away from Victor’s. 

Victor reaches down, pulling the cock-ring from Yuuri’s erection. Yuuri gasps, but the noise is swallowed up as Victor kisses him roughly. He breaks off just long enough to growl, “Come for me when you can, boy,” before he starts to thrust into Yuuri’s ass again, and Yuuri’s cries fill his ears. 

Yuuri clings to Victor’s shoulders the best he can, his bound hands draped over Victor’s neck. Victor fucks him hard, folding him almost in half as he drives Yuuri into the bed, intent on wringing one last bone-shattering orgasm out of him. Yuuri’s cries get louder and more ragged as Victor’s hips snap against his ass, fucking him relentlessly open, intent on driving out every last doubt and fear left in his darling’s head. 

Neither of them last very long. Yuuri comes first, because Victor is still holding desperately to the last shreds of his self-control, but the sight of Yuuri coming apart and the feel of him spasming around Victor’s cock destroys him. He comes just a few beats later, groaning as he sinks home in Yuuri’s ass and comes hard enough to black out his vision for a few seconds. 

It takes a few more moments for Victor to collect the remains of his blasted intellect, enough to reach up and fumble the knot open on Yuuri’s restraints. Then he gathers Yuuri up in his arms, kissing over his tear-stained face and stroking his hair back. Yuuri sniffles, snuggling into Victor’s chest, but it’s just residual reaction. He looks up at Victor and beams. Gone—for now—is the anxiety, the self-loathing, the doubt, banished for a brief while, leaving nothing behind but exhaustion and the sweet, affectionate creature in Victor’s arms. 

Never in his whole life did Victor ever think he could make someone this happy. Never in his whole life did he think he could care so much about protecting someone’s heart, safeguarding their happiness. But the pure adoration in Yuuri’s face cracks something open inside Victor; he cradles Yuuri’s face in one hand, staring down at him and wondering if this can possibly be real.

“I love you so much, my angel,” he whispers. “I don’t know how I could ever deserve you, but I don’t care so long as you’re here.” 

Yuuri smiles at him, kissing Victor’s hand. Then Yuuri wraps his arms around Victor, tugging him closer to kiss him again. “I love you too,” Yuuri says against his lips, soft as the brush of one of his feathers. “You make me happier than I ever was in Heaven.”

Victor swallows against the sudden lump in his throat. He has absolutely nothing to say to that. But when Yuuri kisses him again, soft and tender, Victor decides he doesn’t need to.

* * * * *

The next three days feel like some kind of blessing, satisfaction and bliss in equal measure—Yuuri would call it a honeymoon phase, if he wasn’t trying desperately to avoid thinking too hard about it.

The two of them stay in bed for hours the next morning. They lie there barely awake, Yuuri curled up against Victor’s chest, their arms around each other as they kiss and idly palm each other’s bodies. Victor leaves the bed only long enough to collect some of the soothing ointment he obtained for Yuuri back when Yuuri’s wings were first budding. He settles Yuuri across his lap, tenderly rubbing the lotion into his sore ass and thighs. 

Yuuri is fairly certain Victor didn’t intend to arouse him with the attention, but Victor’s hands on him have that effect regardless. Soon enough Yuuri is whining, insistent, heedless of his own soreness, until finally Victor relents. Yuuri is still well-used enough from the night before that it takes very little work before Victor is pressing his slicked cock into Yuuri. Victor leans down and bites Yuuri’s throat, drinking of him while he slowly fucks into Yuuri’s ass; Yuuri comes almost immediately, moaning and clenching around Victor as his lover pulls him so sweetly under.

They spend the whole day like that—alternating between seeking pleasure in each other and blissfully drowsing, limbs entangled. Victor brings Yuuri his favorite food—strawberries—and hand-feeds him. Yuuri bites down on each ripe berry as it’s offered to him, very aware of Victor’s intent gaze; in response, Yuuri casts his own eyes downward, letting his lashes brush his cheeks as he slowly, deliberately licks the juice from his lips. Victor’s on him in seconds, kissing greedily, chasing the taste of the strawberries with his tongue in Yuuri’s mouth. 

It’s lush, sinful decadence, the very kind of thing Yuuri would once have sworn to never so much as think about. Now he can’t get enough of it. But now he also understands that the real pull is not the hedonism itself, but the one he’s doing it with. Yuuri thinks there is very little he would not endure, would not downright enjoy, so long as he could do it in Victor’s arms, or at his side. Perhaps once Yuuri only agreed to stay in order to hide somewhere that prying eyes wouldn’t be able to find him, but now he stays gladly and all for Victor’s sake.

Eventually, they return to something resembling a normal routine, but for that too, the metric has changed. Neither of them have said anything; ostensibly, Yuuri is still Victor’s pet and nothing more, but not even Yuuri and his impressive powers of denial can ignore the way Victor treats him. Victor was always kind, always tender, always thoughtful, but now he looks at Yuuri as though the sun rises and sets on Yuuri alone. 

Victor asks for Yuuri’s help in some of his projects. It’s a strange affair, intertwining his own power with a demon’s, but by now the signature of Victor’s magic is as familiar to him as the songs of Heaven’s hosts once were. Even more wonderful is learning to cast together—almost as sweet as being made a mess in Victor’s bed is the rush of their power twining together. 

What brief twinge of guilt or anxiety the thought of so willingly giving himself to a demon in yet another way is lost in the warmth of the fact that it’s _Victor_. And Victor is different.

The first time they do it, Yuuri stands just in front of Victor, inside the circle of his arms, as Victor murmurs arcane words in Yuuri’s ear, his arms loosely around Yuuri’s waist. Power bleeds out of them in long gleaming ribbons and bright shafts, called forth by the spell Victor’s casting. The ribbons and beams of light weave themselves together in front of Yuuri and Victor, forming a shining piece of fabric in mid-air. Yuuri watches in delight and amazement as Victor reaches out a hand, crooks a finger and whispers a few more words. Instantly the shining fabric forms itself into what appear to be two separate pieces of clothing, one deep purple, one blue. In fact—

“You wanted to make us matching suit coats?” Yuuri twists his head, looking up at Victor and grinning. 

Victor’s shed some of his more human appearance for the moment, his eyes currently glowing red from the energy to cast the spell they just finished. His horns sweep up from his forehead, making him look particularly demonic (and handsome, in Yuuri’s opinion). 

At the question, he adopts an innocent expression that would probably not even fool a blind man. “It just occurred to me that it might be nice,” he says, and Yuuri bites off a laugh. Victor pouts at him, and Yuuri turns around in his arms, leaning up to kiss him by way of apology. 

“They’re beautiful,” Yuuri says softly. “And you know I’ll wear anything you want me to, Victor.”

Victor wraps his arms more tightly around Yuuri, his expression somehow complicated. “I didn’t want it to just be something of mine,” he says after a moment. His voice is soft, intimate. “I wanted something that—that was both of us.”

He makes a face as he says this, as though frustrated by the inelegance of his statement, but Yuuri thinks he understands.

* * * * *

Time passes.

Victor has another party, some few weeks after the first one that derailed so spectacularly. Lady Sybil does not come; neither does the demon Modai, or several other of Victor’s infernal acquaintances. If Victor is bothered by this, he doesn’t say so to Yuuri, and for his own part Yuuri doesn’t care at all. 

As always, Yuuri wears Victor’s collar, but this time, he and Victor also wear the matching coats they wove together, walking hand-in-hand around the manor as they mingle with their guests. Victor makes a point to draw him close and kiss him several times, in front of everyone. And Yuuri is all too happy to let Victor tip his head back and drink of Yuuri in front of the crowd, and to lean into Victor’s warm arms afterwards when his own strength sags. 

Yuuri gets to know more of Victor’s friends; Christophe and Mila and Georgi all come over outside of Victor’s parties. So too does the younger incubus Victor refers to as his ‘successor,’ a demon ironically named Yuri who now studies with the mentor Victor spent over a thousand years at the knee of, learning spellcraft and demonic wiles. Yuri—Yurio, as Victor calls him—is sour and rude, completely at odds with how warm Victor is towards him. 

(Yuuri supposes that if Minako had kept incessantly comparing him to a previous student, Yuuri might have been grumpy as well. But he tries not to think about Minako if he can avoid it.)

Yurio avoids the parties, but seems to like to come over by himself. During one of his visits, Victor gets up to go collect an artifact Yurio wants to borrow. The artifact—some kind of cursed mirror—is upstairs in one of the guest bedrooms, leaving Yuuri alone with Yurio on the couch. 

“Guess he doesn’t think I’m going to make off with you or try to drink of you myself,” Yurio says. He’s making no secret of the way he’s staring at Yuuri; even with the return of his strength, Yuuri finds himself a little unnerved. 

It’s not that he doesn’t think he could handle Yurio. It’s that he’s not sure he can _hide_ anything from Yurio. 

“He trusts you,” Yuuri says after a moment, trying to be delicate. “And he knows I wouldn’t leave him.”

“Well I’m not sure _I_ trust you,” says Yurio. He leans forward, eyes keen and a little too perceptive. He’s definitely starting to make Yuuri uncomfortable. “What is an angel who can make a demon trap strong enough Victor couldn’t break it doing down here? Slumming? Spying?”

Yuuri stiffens. Heat burns in his cheeks; he studies his fingernails for a moment before lifting his eyes to meet Yurio’s again. “Did Victor tell you that?” 

“No, Christophe did,” says Yurio. “He saw Victor try to break your spell, _and_ saw it dropped before he could.” 

Blast. “I’m here because I want to be here, because Victor makes me happy,” Yuuri says, which has the virtue of being true even if it is a not particularly thorough answer. 

“You still have your wings,” Yurio presses.

“They grew back, it’s not the same thing,” Yuuri says. What’s taking Victor so long, he wonders. Why hasn’t he come back yet?

“How’d you lose them in the first place? What were you doing down here when Victor found you?” Yurio is like a hell-hound, the kind Yuuri’s seen take hold of a man’s leg and not let go till the unfortunate victim is dead or his leg ripped off. “You’re going to make trouble for Victor, aren’t you?”

“I don’t want to talk about this with you,” Yuuri says, and stands up. That’s the moment Victor reappears in the door, the cursed mirror in his hand. 

“Found it!” he says cheerfully. Then he pauses, glancing from Yuuri standing awkwardly by the coffee table over to Yurio still sitting on the couch. Yuuri’s face feels hot, and he avoids Victor’s eyes, but he can still feel the way Victor is frowning at both of them.

“I should go,” Yurio announces. He stands up, coming over to Victor to take the mirror from his hand. “Thanks for letting me borrow this, Victor. I should have known you wouldn’t be doing anything useful with it.”

Yuuri hears Victor laugh in response. “Get out of here, brat,” he says, real warmth in his voice. Yuuri lets out a soft sigh as Yurio’s presence vanishes from the room. Victor’s arms go around him an instant later, pulling him in close. 

“What’d he say to you?” Victor strokes Yuuri’s hair, smoothing a hand down his back. Bit by bit, Yuuri lets himself relax, lets his eyes shut, lets himself lean into his Master’s strong frame and feel safe again.

“Nothing,” Yuuri murmurs. He slips his own arms around Victor’s waist, and rests his cheek against his lover’s shoulder. “It’s nothing.”

* * * * *

Later, Yuuri will look back and think that he should have known when Yurio started asking him all those painful questions that his time was almost up. After all, he knows the drill; nothing gold can stay.

When the fateful day comes, Yuuri is where he most loves to be: curled up in Victor’s arms, the two of them stretched out long and languid on the couch. Perhaps sensing the way Yuuri’s anxiety has slowly been ramping up the past few weeks, Victor has been extra attentive lately. They’re actually planning another intense scene for later that day, one Victor promises will be thoroughly draining—just what Yuuri wants.

For now, though, they’re idling the time away. Victor’s lips are kissing light over Yuuri’s throat, murmuring out spells of love and wickedness against the delicate skin there. Yuuri has one hand laced with one of Victor’s, his eyes half-shut as he luxuriates in the push-pull of Victor’s aura against his own. It’s sweet and soothing, enough to distract him from his own anxiety.

That’s when there’s a clatter at the front door. Victor sits up, tilting Yuuri upright as they both look to see Yurio hurrying in through the front door, skittering across the hardwood floor like a sprinter finishing his dash. One look at Yurio’s face and Yuuri’s heart drops into his stomach with a sickening lurch. “What’s wrong?” Victor demands.

“I tried to get here as fast as I could,” Yurio gets out, almost breathless. “I ran—all the way—all the way from Yakov’s—”

“You ran? Why didn’t you teleport?” Yuuri slides off Victor’s lap, both of them standing up and crossing the room to meet Yurio.

Yurio shakes his head, gritting his teeth in frustration. “No one can teleport in or out of your manor right now, Victor,” he says. “They’ve put a ward up around your entire realm, I had to run through a wall of fire—”

“Who? What is happening?” The agitation in Victor’s voice goes right to Yuuri’s stomach. He glances over at his partner and is alarmed to see how gray Victor’s gone. 

As though he already knows what Yurio is going to say.

“That demon of wrath, Modai, he’s raised an army,” says Yurio, and Yuuri’s skin goes cold. “They’re coming here, now. They’re on their way. I came as soon as I found out—”

“What does he think he’s playing at?” Victor turns away from Yurio with a snarl. He runs fingers through his hair, distracted; Yuuri notes the sudden stink of sulphur as Victor’s fingertips sizzle. “I have nothing he would want—”

“It’s not you they’re coming here for,” Yurio says. Victor stops, turning around to stare at Yurio for a moment. Then both of them look over at Yuuri.

Yuuri swallows. “What did I do?”

“They think you have Victor under your thrall,” says Yurio grimly. “That you’re planning something.”

“That’s idiotic,” Victor snaps. “He’s mine, he’s my pet—”

“He’s the angel who trapped one of your demon friends in front of you and has you wrapped around your finger,” Yurio says, voice flat. “Did you really think you could go like this forever, that no one would notice or care what you were doing?”

“What business is it of anyone else?” cries Victor. “We’re not hurting anyone! He’s mine, he’s under my protection, and I won’t suffer anyone to hurt him or tell me otherwise!”

“You aren’t going to have a choice!” 

“I’m not—”

They keep going, their voices getting louder, but Yuuri is no longer paying attention. Something inside him has woken up—something he pushed down deep, something he tried to drown inside himself so he wouldn’t have to look at it or think about it anymore. It waited while he suffered alone, quiescent when Victor found him and took him in, and as he recovered under Victor’s care, so did this part of him. 

Victor’s protection and love nurtured every part of Yuuri. Even the parts he wanted to forget.

Yuuri can sense the demon army’s approach. They’re still on the horizon, still several leagues away but rapidly approaching; they’ll be here in ten minutes or less, by his estimation. He can feel their malevolence and their ill intent, the violence on their minds and the anticipated pleasure of the hurt they intend to cause. And he can tell, also, that they are legion, that there are far too many for Victor to handle by himself, or even Victor and Yurio together.

They’re coming here because of him. Victor has incurred the wrath of his own kind on behalf of Yuuri. And Yuuri may have left Heaven wishing to never be reminded of his place there, but he can no more deny the part of him awakening now than he can stand by and let Victor be hurt because of him. 

“Yuuri, we have to go,” Victor is saying. He takes Yuuri’s hand, but Yuuri pulls back, gently. 

“You have to stay here,” he says. Now that he knows what must be done, he’s weirdly calm. “Yurio, don’t let him come outside.”

“What are you talking about?” snaps Yurio, but even as he opens his mouth to continue, he falters. Yuuri turns towards them both, and they must already be able to see the light in his face, because their objections die on their tongues. 

Yuuri leans up, dropping a kiss on Victor’s forehead. It sizzles for a brief moment as his blessing comes to life, then forms into a shining star. He leans over and does the same thing for Yurio without hesitation; Yurio might be a little ass, but he ran all this way for love of Victor, and that’s something Yuuri understands very well. 

“Whatever you do,” Yuuri says, “don’t come outside.”

Wishing waiting for an answer, he turns to go, walking towards the entrance. The doors swing open in front of him, and as Yuuri takes his first step outside, his wings erupt, and he takes flight.

* * * * *

Despite the warning, Victor nearly gets himself killed. Only Yurio’s presence saves him from following his beloved outside and meeting the same fate as the horde advancing on his manor.

“Don’t you _fucking dare_ ,” Yurio snarls. He physically drags Victor away from the doors, which close on their own behind Yuuri. It’s with great anxiety and reluctance that Victor allows himself to be pulled instead to the huge windows of the front room, where he and Yurio can get a good view of …whatever it is Yuuri’s about to do.

Victor can see the approaching army now, massing on the edge of his realm, less than a league away now. There must be hundreds of them, he thinks in a daze, and has to swallow down the urge to run to the front door again. 

Why, why did Yuuri go out there alone? What is he going to do? There’s just one of him, and however strong he might be he can’t possibly do this alone—

—can he?

Victor crosses his arms tightly, trying to ward off the fear that’s filling his chest, his lungs, his heart. He stares at Yuuri as his love takes to the air, and then he blinks and has to look again. Where one pair of wings was, Yuuri now has two…

No, three. Three pairs of wings. Victor’s mouth goes dry. 

Yuuri’s still changing. Victor watches, stunned and mute, as Yuuri lifts his hand, a gesture that speaks of confidence and long practice. A sword materializes in his hand, and not just any sword, but a gigantic one made of pure flame. Yuuri lifts higher into the air, raising his other hand, and instantly a shield appears, pure and shining as starlight. And all around him now, light is gathering, limning his feet, his wings, his armor—

—his _armor?_

“Oh, shit,” Yurio says beside him, sounding stunned.

Victor doesn’t get a chance to respond, because that’s the moment when Yuuri bursts into flame. Victor screams, flinching back from the window as white fire engulfs his darling boy, the flames too bright to even look at. He has to shade his eyes and squint, and by the time he’s looked back, the fireball that was his angel has been replaced by a pillar of white, burning light—a pillar advancing rapidly towards the army of demons.

“Victor, get _down_ ,” says Yurio, and grabs for Victor’s arm. He yanks Victor down, both of them clamping their eyes shut and hiding their faces, and as they do the windows go completely white. Victor can _feel_ the explosion—it rocks the entire manor, throwing Victor and Yurio to the ground. 

“Yuuri,” gasps Victor, and starts to scramble to his feet. Yurio grabs his arm before he can get up, though, and keeps him on the ground for several more tense moments. Only once the light has started to fade does Yurio let him go. 

Victor knows he should be more careful, that he should proceed with caution, but despite the demonstration he just witnessed, the reality of Yuuri’s power still hasn’t completely registered. He hurries to the front door, throwing them open and descending the steps with haste. Three steps out the front door is all it takes before he’s having to stop at the brightness, unable to see anything at all. He’s assaulted by a burning sensation that tingles over all his exposed skin—as though something lingers still in the over-bright air, something deadly. 

His forehead pulses, like a raw burn; Victor slows, reaching up to touch the spot on his brow where Yuuri kissed him. Instantly the burning sensation lessens, and after a few moments he finds that he’s able to see. Victor resumes down the steps, hurrying out in the direction he saw Yuuri go. As his eyes adjust, he sees a slim figure ahead of him—it’s Yuuri, walking towards him.

Victor looks past his love, anxious to see what threat might still await them, but there’s nothing before him but a blasted plain. 

“I told you to stay inside,” says Yuuri, as they get close enough to each other to be heard. Victor’s response is to break into a run, dashing across the ruined ground to Yuuri and snatching him up. Yuuri throws his arms around Victor’s neck, and Victor crushes him against his chest, burying his face in Yuuri’s soft hair.

“I was afraid you might not want to touch me,” Yuuri mumbles against Victor’s neck. 

Victor shuts his eyes, hugging Yuuri a little tighter. “I already told you, Yuuri,” he says roughly. “There’s nothing you could do that would make me not want you.” 

Yuuri makes a small, wet noise completely at odds with the demonstration of power Victor just witnessed. But whatever Yuuri’s been hiding, whatever might he keeps behind lock and key, it doesn’t change the boy who’s lived in Victor’s head and heart these past many months. Not as far as Victor’s concerned, anyway.

That being said… “I wouldn’t mind hearing a little more about what just happened, though,” Victor murmurs. 

Yuuri pulls back just a little, giving Victor a watery smile. “Okay,” he says, and sighs. “You deserve to know. Especially since this is my fault.”

“Yuuri,” Victor begins, but Yuuri shakes his head, cutting off the rest of his protest.

“Let’s just go inside,” he says. Victor has no choice but to agree.

* * * * *

The telling takes almost no time at all. Hearing it, understanding it—that feels like it takes a small chunk of eternity, but Victor supposes that’s to be expected of a being as lovely and gifted as his Yuuri.

(Yurio took one look at their faces when they came inside and announced that he was leaving, so now Victor and Yuuri are alone. Victor is both grateful and a little nervous; he hopes he isn’t going to need Yurio’s support here soon.)

It turns out that Yuuri was not some wayward angel exiled from Heaven for crossing some arbitrary line. Yuuri is old—almost as old as Victor—and strong, and, Victor guesses, as beloved by Heaven’s light as he is by Victor himself. But Yuuri _left_ Heaven, departed of his own will, driven solely by his own broken heart. 

“I am—well, was—a seraph, specifically a guardian angel,” Yuuri says softly. “My task was always to protect. Originally I mostly defended Heaven’s children, and its walls, but eventually I began primarily guarding humans.”

Victor frowns slightly. “I thought seraphim’s only job was to sing,” he says, feeling somewhat foolish. “And that guardians were one of the lower ranks of angels.”

Yuuri smiles lop-sidedly at him. “I can see why you might think that,” he says. “But no. Seraphim do many things, aside from sing; guardians are just one kind of seraphim. And guarding mortals is amongst one of the most difficult jobs an angel can have.” His smile fades somewhat as he says this, pain coming back into his features.

This revelation at least somewhat explains how devastatingly powerful Yuuri is, beneath his mild demeanor. Victor knew about the lesser guardians, of course, but he had no idea that there were seraphim guardians as well. From how Yuuri tells it, it seems that amongst the host of Heaven, only the Powers—its legendary warrior-angels—are stronger than the seraphim guardians, who make up the primary defense. Victor privately boggles at the idea that he had for a long time, the ridiculous fancy that he might have been able to stop Yuuri from leaving if he actually wished to go. How silly that thought seems now. 

“So why did you leave?” Victor asks. He has Yuuri in his lap, his arms loosely around Yuuri’s waist as Yuuri leans into him. “Was it because you lost your wings?”

Yuuri shakes his head. “I tore my wings off myself when I left,” he says, eyes downcast. Victor can’t stop his sharp intake of breath at that. 

“Yuuri, why?”

Yuuri sighs. “I was such a failure,” he says. He rubs at his face, shoulders slumping; he paints a very different picture than the creature of terrible might he presented just a short while ago. “I told you guarding humans was hard, but I—didn’t realize how hard, when I asked to take on the job.” He goes quiet, staring at his hands, but Victor senses that he isn’t done yet, just gathering his thoughts. 

“You’re not supposed to take it too personally,” Yuuri says after a moment. “You’re supposed to be strong, and compassionate, and loving, but you’re not supposed to take it to heart. But I couldn’t—keep myself distant like that. I loved them. Every time I lost someone, it hurt more.”

“Yuuri,” Victor whispers. The sorrow in Yuuri’s voice cut him like a knife. 

“They work so hard to hurt each themselves, and each other,” Yuuri says. “And then there are the ones who didn’t do anything wrong, who are just in the wrong place at the wrong time, and humans can be so _cruel_ —”

His voice breaks a little; Victor pulls him closer, feeling very useless in the face of this colossal burden that someone saw fit to place on his darling. 

Yuuri takes a deep breath and continues. “It didn’t matter how many I saved. There was always one that I couldn’t protect, that I couldn’t—I wasn’t strong enough. I failed to protect people who needed me. I didn’t deserve my wings.”

Victor has no idea what to say. Demons aren’t creatures given to softness and care; all the things Yuuri’s shown him, made him feel—it’s all new territory for Victor. And literally none of it provided a roadmap for what to say or do now. 

Now he knows why Yuuri was alone, why he was wandering so far from home. He knows too why Yuuri wanted to hide somewhere he wouldn’t be found, where he could lay down his burden and give his attention to someone else.

For a time, at least. Victor wonders if that time is up, now. 

He takes a deep breath. “I have no idea how you bore such a burden,” he says. “I would think it’d be enough to break anyone, sooner or later.” 

Yuuri looks up at him, his smile soft and sad. “I suppose so,” he says; Victor can tell he doesn’t entirely believe his own words. “But… I should have known I wouldn’t actually be able to leave it behind.”

“You don’t have to go back,” Victor blurts out. _Please stay. Please don’t go._

“If I stay here, you’re going to be attacked again,” Yuuri says. “Your fellows won’t tolerate a guardian angel in their midst, now that they know what I am.” Victor hates how he sounds: tired, resigned, as though there’s no avoiding the thing bearing down on them, now that it has them in its sights. 

“We’ll go somewhere else,” Victor says. Desperation makes him wrap his arms tighter around Yuuri, as though that by itself will prevent his departure, change his mind. “We can find somewhere to hide—”

“I can’t hide from this,” Yuuri says. “Not if it means putting you in danger. What if someone comes looking for me? I used too much power for my kin to have missed it, and they’ll be coming this way soon, too. I can’t watch you be hurt, Victor.”

“Don’t leave me,” Victor says, before he can stop himself. Yuuri stops, staring up at him with wide eyes. Victor swallows, voice tight with emotion. “I can’t… Yuuri, I can’t go back to a life without you.”

For several long moments, Yuuri says nothing. His face softens, something warm and complicated in his eyes; he leans forward, kissing Victor, and in his kiss is all the sweetness and devotion that Victor has come to treasure so much. 

Yuuri’s arms slip around Victor’s neck, and when they break their kiss, it’s for a tight hug. Victor squeezes his eyes shut, holding Yuuri close. For the first time in his entire life he wishes he was of a kind that might be able to pray: pray that his darling won’t leave, that the bright spot in his life won’t vanish from his sight.

“I have to deal with this,” Yuuri says in a low voice. “But—I can’t go back to what I used to do, either.”

“We can figure it out,” Victor says. He pulls back a little, cradling Yuuri’s face in his hand. “I promise, Yuuri.”

Yuuri takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. “Okay,” he says. “I—okay.”

It’s not okay, not really, but maybe it’ll be enough. They talk for a little while longer, trying to come up with something resembling a plan, but really what they’re doing is putting off the moment when Yuuri pulls away from Victor’s arms and walks out his front doors, alone. It takes almost three hours of discussion to finally decide what to do (discussion interrupted by an hour of desperate love-making, where Yuuri pushes Victor down onto the couch and rides him). 

Their plan is simple. Yuuri will return to Heaven, explain what’s befallen him, and reassure his kin that he remains gone of his own volition. Then he’ll leave, come back to Victor, and the two of them will find somewhere new to live—safe from the prying eyes, either infernal or divine. 

In theory, anyways. In reality, negotiation between Heaven and Hell has rarely gone that smoothly. 

Finally, though, there’s no more putting it off. Victor walks outside with him, to the front steps of his manor before pulling Yuuri close. They kiss; Victor pours everything into it, all of himself, all of the creature he’s become since Yuuri first wandered into his life, three thousand years of existence leading directly to this moment. There’s a flutter of something soft at his cheek, and Victor realizes Yuuri’s wings have come out, wrapping around them both as if to protect them from what’s about to happen.

Yuuri is the one to break the kiss, to step back. Victor stares at him, distantly aware that of the two of them, Yuuri is far stronger. “Please come back to me,” Victor says.

“I will,” says Yuuri. He smiles at Victor, small and sweet, and then he’s airborne. Victor watches until Yuuri is barely visible at edges of his realm, a slim figure borne on great black wings. Then he’s gone.

All Victor can do now is pray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ABSOLUTELY bullshitted a bit from actual angelology, which I do not feel even a tiny bit bad about, considering how many liberties other media properties have taken with the subject in the past. If you are interested in learning more about Powers, Thrones, Seraphim, and so on, [Wikipedia has a fairly good run-down](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christian_angelology).


	4. Allegro assai — Andante — Allegro assai

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor waits until he can't wait any longer, and then decides to take matters into his own hands... with mixed results.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello! Sorry for the long delay; this chapter was very difficult, mostly due to a very busy month for both me and my writing buddy/beta. As you noticed, it's going to be 5 chapters and not 4 (*shakes a fist*), because I'm me. Extra love and kisses to my beta for her hard work helping me wrangle this beast. 
> 
> Note: There is no porn in this chapter. It's all in chapter five. As partial compensation, this chapter is ~~a billion years long~~ over 12,000 words. I hope you enjoy it! Warnings for moderate (but not graphic) violence, and some hurt/comfort.

The days following Yuuri’s departure are some of the worst of Victor’s life. (Considering he lived through the Crusades, the Inquisition, and the Fifth Demon War of the Enochian Age, that’s saying a lot.)

His manor house was always too large for him, really. But once upon a time, Victor found a way to fill up the rooms in such a way that he never felt the lack—or maybe he was so used to being solo that it never occurred to him to be lonesome. He had his projects, his toys, his friends and his vanities, little wickednesses that whiled away his hours. 

Once upon a time he took great pleasure in all of those things. Now they might as well be phantoms, for all the weight they carry in his heart.

With Yuuri gone, Victor’s home of over two millennia has instead become a mausoleum. Victor roams the empty halls, much more like a restless ghost than a powerful demon lord. He goes from room to room, searching for he knows not what—for there is nothing in his home now that will fill the hole in his heart left by the departure of his angel.

Victor trusts Yuuri. He’s never trusted anyone in his life the way he trusts Yuuri; he wonders if this is what it feels like to have faith in something, or some _one_ , rather. But he does _not_ trust the host of Heaven. He doesn’t trust Yuuri’s divine kinsmen not to try to press him back into service, to bludgeon him with guilt until he accepts his burden once more. 

That idea, more than anything else, is what torments Victor. Even the thought of having to suffer through a life without Yuuri—a life therefore devoid of meaning and joy—pales next to the idea of Yuuri being forced to return to what he used to do, when it came so close to destroying him. Victor saw first-hand how downtrodden and exhausted Yuuri was when he first arrived in Victor’s realm. The weight of all those lost human lives had ground him down almost to dust. 

If Victor feels remotely virtuous about one thing in his life, it’s that he protected Yuuri, loved him, gave him somewhere safe to recover. Victor does not need to flatter himself to be able to recognize the change in Yuuri between when he arrived in Victor’s home and how he was in the days prior to his departure. Over and over, Victor replays that fateful conversation: he can hear the anguish in Yuuri’s voice as he talked about the lives he couldn’t save, the way he perceived his own failure. 

If Yuuri is pressed into service once more, it will crush him. Of this, Victor is sure. He knows that Yuuri is strong (so much stronger than Victor ever dreamed he might be) and he knows that Yuuri was brave enough to leave Heaven once, to put his burden down and walk away. Victor hopes—prays—with all his heart that with the knowledge that Victor is waiting for him, Yuuri will be strong enough to resist the pressure of his kinsmen and leave the Elysian fields once more. (Though his kinsmen surely won’t be thrilled to hear what their cousin has gotten himself involved with. Victor can only guess at how _that_ conversation will go.)

But as the days pass and Yuuri has not returned, Victor’s heart sinks lower and lower. What if Yuuri’s been convinced to stay? What if he hasn’t been given a choice? What if—what if he never even made it to Heaven? (This particular idea is more than a little preposterous, considering the show of strength he already witnessed from Yuuri once, but Victor’s anxiety won’t let him dismiss the possibility either. Strength isn’t everything.) The possibilities haunt him.

Victor can find no distraction in any of his projects, and no peace in any activity. Nothing catches his attention, or brings him pleasure; not magic, or intoxicants, or the company of any of his friends. And whatever they may think of Victor’s behavior, or his relationship with Yuuri, Victor’s friends have risen to the occasion. They’ve been visiting him far more often than they normally would, stopping by almost every day in an attempt to keep him from smothering himself in his own pillows. 

Christophe informs him in no uncertain terms that he has become ‘a terrible bore,’ but Victor knows his best friend well enough to recognize when Chris is trying to redirect his attention elsewhere. It just happens to not be working this time.

(Christophe isn’t the only friend to visit him, of course; Mila stops by at one point too, bringing wine and chocolates and lilies of the valley, which Victor thinks is remarkably sweet of her. She also brings news that word of the battle out front of Victor’s manor—if the decimation of Modai and his army can properly be called such—has spread like wildfire throughout the infernal realms. Most people who don’t already know Victor well are keeping far away from him, since the word is that Victor has somehow tamed a Power, a creature of unstoppable might.

Victor is fine with this. He has no desire to correct anyone’s misperceptions. As far as he’s concerned, Yuuri’s past and real identity is a secret that no one else needs to know—to say nothing of the real nature of his and Victor’s relationship.)

Time passes. After nearly a week of waiting—a week that feels like a hundred years—Victor’s despondency has gotten so bad that he can barely drag himself out of bed. 

The only reason he’s managed to dress himself today is because Yurio is coming over. It’ll be the third time Yurio’s visited him this week, actually. Victor thinks it’s probably because Yurio thinks he’s being ridiculous for missing Yuuri so badly, but he can’t bring himself to care.

He drags himself downstairs and pours himself onto the couch to await his friend’s arrival. Yurio comes through the front door not ten minutes later, the stink of sulphur still clinging to his clothes from the speed of his travel. 

Victor opens his mouth to greet his friend, but stops when three more demons walk through his front doors: Christophe, Mila, and Victor’s mentor, Yakov. All four of them are wearing similar serious expressions. Victor wonders what they came here to say to him.

Yurio walks in ahead of the others, takes one look at Victor, and rolls his eyes. “You offend my sight,” he says crossly. “I’ve never seen anyone act so pathetically.”

Victor sighs. He loves all his friends dearly, but he doesn’t know how long he can tolerate this particular avenue of criticism. “I know you all think I shouldn’t care so much—”

“We didn’t say that,” says Christophe.

“I mean, you _are_ kind of pathetic right now,” says Mila. “But I’ve never seen you act this way about anyone, either.”

“I don’t know why you had to go and fall in love with an angel, but you did,” says Yurio. He sounds thoroughly disgusted. He sounds thoroughly disgusted twelve times a day, though, so really he could be feeling anything. 

Victor stares. “I,” he says, and then stops. “Wait, so why are you all here, then? Aren’t you here to tell me to get over him?”

Yakov, who thus far has done nothing but stand behind the others and frown, now grunts. “Vitya,” he says. “Is it true that this angel of yours fought an army for you?”

Victor is so at a loss from this whole situation that he doesn’t even bother to complain about Yakov using his old nickname. “It’s true,” he says. “Although ‘fought’ implies the army was any sort of challenge—”

“Yes, I’ve heard from Yuri how it went,” Yakov cuts in. “I don’t need you to brag about it. But as far as I’m concerned, that’s all the proof we needed.”

Proof? Proof of what? Victor glances from Yakov to the other’s faces, feeling even more lost than he did before. “I still don’t understand why you’re here, if not to tell me to get over Yuuri,” he says. 

“We’re here to help you go get him back,” says Mila. “Since nothing else will make you happy.”

Victor’s jaw drops; inside, his heart does something similar, spelunking straight through his stomach into the floor somewhere. “You’re here to help me—what?”

“I told you the angel has turned him into an idiot,” says Yurio with an exaggerated sigh. “We’re going to help you break into Heaven to steal Yuuri back, Victor.”

“It’ll be terribly dangerous and ill-advised,” says Christophe. He sounds almost manically cheerful as he says this. “We haven’t done anything nearly so brazen in centuries; I’m really looking forward to it.”

“You can’t possibly get in without our help,” Yurio says. Now he sounds halfway interested, which means he’s probably internally jumping up and down to go do what they’re discussing.

But what they’re suggesting is _madness_. “We are _not_ breaking into Heaven to kidnap Yuuri back!” Victor says loudly.

Christophe sighs. “Told you he wouldn’t go for it,” Mila says.

“Vitya,” Yakov says, sternly. Victor can almost see him straightening up, as if preparing to scold Victor like he did so many times when they were mentor and student. “Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t keep on like this, you’re miserable.”

“And we’re all standing here ready to help you” adds Christophe. “Really, Victor—”

“What do you think would happen if we broke into Heaven, assuming we were actually even successful?” Victor demanded. “Yuuri is a seraphim guardian. If his kinsmen are anywhere near as dangerous as he is, we’d be decimated instantly. Or, worse, we’d spark outright war.”

“That’s why we’ll have to make sure we aren’t discovered,” says Mila. “We have all the magics we need to cover our trail—” 

“ _No_ ,” says Victor. “I’m not kidnapping Yuuri. If he’s not willing to come back of his own free will, I would never force him to come back.”

At that, the other four fall silent. Yakov is studying Victor with a peculiar expression on his face, one that Victor, for all his many years of life, can’t decipher. 

“He really has changed you,” says Christophe, first to break the silence. 

“If he has, then I’m not sorry,” Victor says defiantly. 

Mila and Yurio exchange a glance; Yakov stirs, finally, and speaks. “Then it’s even more important for you to go get him, because you don’t belong here anymore.”

Victor stares at him, stricken. “You’re casting me out,” he manages after a moment, through a throat that wants to close off against his words. “After all we’ve been through together…”

“You will always have a place with us,” says Yakov, and in his voice is kindness, a softness Victor hasn’t heard in years. Christophe and Mila nod in agreement; Yurio scowls and stares at his feet. “But you won’t be happy here anymore, especially if it means staying here without your angel.”

“He can’t go to Heaven,” bursts out Yurio, whose expression has been getting blacker and blacker since Victor shot down their offer to help him break into Elysium. “That’s a stupid idea.”

“No, Yakov is right,” Victor says, warming to the idea. “I should just go to him.”

“Chris, tell him not to go!” cries Yurio, but Christophe just shakes his head.

“I can’t wait any longer,” Victor says. He’s excited by the idea already, more energized than he’s been in a week. “The longer he stays there, the harder it’ll be for him to leave. Thank you so much, Yurio.”

“Are you fucking crazy?” Yurio demands. He looks close to tears now, which means he’s likely to punch Victor at any moment. “If you go to Heaven, you could die!”

“It won’t be fun, but it won’t kill me,” Victor says, with more confidence than he strictly feels. “And if it reunites me with my Yuuri, any amount of pain will be worth it.”

Now is not the time to reflect on the unfairness that is the fact that angels can tread without fear in almost any part of Hell (aside from wariness of its inhabitants, that is) while the demonic can not set food inside Heaven’s gates without being burnt alive by holy fire. Only the very old and the very strong stand a chance of entering Heaven and leaving alive. 

Victor’s friends gaze at him, varying expressions of resignation and frustration on their faces. Only Yakov looks satisfied, almost pleased. This, more than anything else, tells Victor that he’s made the right choice. 

Yakov nods, as if coming to some internal conclusion. “Be careful,” he says. “Don’t antagonize the guards. If you want them to let you past the gates, you have to come empty-handed. And whatever you do, don’t lie. Angels can sense falsehood.”

“I know, grandfather,” says Victor lightly, using his old nickname for his mentor. Yakov scowls at him, but it doesn’t have any teeth.

Christophe and Mila both step forward, both of them pulling him in for a hug. “Good luck,” says Mila. “Don’t piss off any Powers.”

“If you see any other cute angels who look lonely, send them my way,” adds Christophe, and Victor laughs.

Yurio is the last to relent. He looks at the other three, and his shoulders slump. Then he shakes his head. “Fine,” he says. “Nothing else will satisfy you now, will it? Just be careful, you stupid old man.”

“Thank you, Yurio,” says Victor. He walks over to Yurio and enfolds him in a crushing hug. After a few moments of standing there like an offended cat, Yurio softens, finally returning the embrace. 

“Don’t take too long or I’ll move into your mansion,” says Yurio, as they break apart. He scowls, as though to make sure Victor doesn’t get any wrong ideas about Yurio being concerned for him.

“You’re welcome to stay here as much as you like while I’m gone,” says Victor. “But I hope it will be a swift trip. I have no desire to visit with our cousins longer than it takes to collect Yuuri and go.” But will Yuuri even want to come back to the mansion? He was already wary of attracting more trouble for Victor, even before he left. 

Victor doesn’t know. He doesn’t know where they’ll go, or if he’ll be able to get past the guards at Heaven’s gates, or what he’ll say when he sees Yuuri. All he knows is that he can’t stay here and fade away to nothing, worrying about his love and missing him until there’s nothing left of Victor but his ache for Yuuri. 

“Be careful,” says Yurio again, and the others nod. It’s the only advice worth heeding, really.

“I will,” says Victor. Three steps out his front door, and he’s gone.

* * * * *

Yuuri’s tired.

He’s only been back in the golden fields for a week, and already he can feel the weight settling back onto his shoulders—the weight of others’ expectations, the weight of his own guilt. The initial joy of seeing his missed loved ones has faded somewhat since then, especially in light of the resistance he’s faced to his stated plan.

Yuuri expected it, of course. He also expected the twenty rations of scolding he received from his mentors, Minako and Celestino especially. 

(“What were you _thinking_?” Minako demanded, when she got done crushing all of his ribs in a hug strong enough to collapse steel girders. “You rip off your own wings, you were gone for almost two years, and the first news we hear of you is a rumor of an angel laying waste to an army of demons—”

“You heard about that?” Yuuri flushed. 

“Of course I heard about it! We were preparing to come looking for you, then you turn up on our doorstep with fully-healed wings and a story about this—this incubus who took you in, and—” That was around the time Minako had dissolved into angry tears, the kind that mostly required Yuuri to apologize and promise to not worry her like that again.)

Truthfully, Yuuri knows that what he did was very selfish. While he wasn’t so irresponsible as to leave without telling anyone he was going, he’d given no thought or care to where he was going after he left, or how he would send word that he was still alive. All he’d known then was that he didn’t want to be in Heaven, and he didn’t want to be found. 

His parents were just glad to see him. For that, Yuuri is profoundly grateful. As much as he loves all of his friends, his mentors, his fellow seraphim, worrying his parents was the thing he felt worst about in his departure. It is for his mother’s sake that he takes off Victor’s collar, because he can tell the sight of infernal magic on her son pains her. 

He does not dispose of it, however. At night, when he lies in bed seeking sleep that will not come, Yuuri holds it tightly between both hands, feeling Victor’s power running light over his fingers through the magically-conjured fabric.

No one is asking him to go back to being a guardian, at least. Yuuri had been afraid that they would insist, but mostly everyone is just happy to see him home and safe. He’s endured hours of being fussed over by his family and friends—Celestino and Phichit journeyed from the other side of Heaven to come see him when they heard he’d reappeared—and after the joyous reunions came the fretting (and more bone-crushing hugs). 

But once Yuuri explained that he’s spent most of the past year in the dwelling of a demon, the worrying and disapproval started. No one seems to be able to believe that Yuuri spent his time in Hell willingly—that Victor didn’t trick him, bewitch him somehow, into being his pet.

“He’s an incubus, Yuuri,” says Mari, for the umpteenth time. Yuuri took a walk with his sister, to catch up, and inevitably the conversation came back around to the topic of who specifically Yuuri spent most of his time this past year with. 

Right now she’s frowning at Yuuri like she always used to when they were kids, when Yuuri was still stretching his wings and not yet grown into his own strength. Like all seraphim guardians when not actively fighting, she and Yuuri are both dressed in light robes, their wings folded demurely behind their backs. Of course, Mari’s are still pure white, as opposed to Yuuri’s mostly-black ones.

Yuuri is staring at their feet now, not at her wings. Mostly because he can’t bear the look on her face at the moment. When Yuuri still doesn’t respond, Mari continues. “It’s what they do. That’s what all demons do.”

“You haven’t met him! You weren’t there, you don’t know what it was like!” Yuuri feels ill, hearing his sister say such things about his lover. “And do you really think he could have stopped me from leaving if I’d wanted to?” 

“Well, no, not when you’re fully healed,” Mari says. She’s perfectly calm, and almost relentless in this line of discussion. “But when you left Heaven, you were heartsick. You’d ripped your wings off, you couldn’t even summon your sword. It wouldn’t have been that hard to trap you and keep you against your will, or bewitch you to make you think staying was your idea. 

“Leaving in that state was really dangerous, by the way,” she adds, and Yuuri flushes dully in shame. The reminder of how he must have worried his loved ones makes him feel awful all over again. 

“I was more than capable of defending myself when Victor found me,” Yuuri says. He’s struggling to keep his cool, to stay calm and not react to this line of badgering, but it’s getting harder and harder. “He didn’t force me to do anything. He’s not like that.”

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go back,” Mari says, for what is probably the fifth time. She opens her mouth to say more, but despite his best efforts, Yuuri abruptly finds that he has had enough. His sister breaks off as Yuuri stands up and stalks away, black feathers swirling in his wake. “Yuuri! Wait!” 

Yuuri does not wait. He heads out deeper into the woods, striking out on the path lined with golden trees that will take him back to their parents’ home. He chooses the longer of the two routes available, the second path slightly overgrown with flowers and trees; he doesn’t want to be around anyone else just yet.

Yuuri is starting to think that he shouldn’t have come back at all, that he should have listened to Victor—that they should have just stolen off to somewhere else together, somewhere new, hidden from divine and infernal eyes alike. He wanted so badly to do the right thing, to try to right the wrong he committed by leaving so abruptly and worrying all his loved ones. But if anything, the pressure that drove him to leave is that much worse now that he’s come back and tried to explain how he feels.

Not one single angel believes him. Apparently no one—not Minako, not Phichit, not even his parents—is capable of imagining that Yuuri could possibly have found a way to be happy outside of the mission laid on him at birth, outside the golden fields of Heaven. Certainly not in the arms of a demon. 

He knows it’s hard for them to conceive of a demon like Victor, or even demons like Yurio and Christophe and Mila, for that matter. Once upon a time, Yuuri thought like them: that all demons were dangerous, vicious creatures who would torture or trick anyone foolish enough to fall into their grasp. 

Now he knows better. Those demons exist, true. But Victor, and most of his friends, are nothing like that. They’re funny, and shockingly kind, and far more interesting and full of life than Yuuri would ever have thought possible. Far more like humans, honestly. Victor would laugh if he heard Yuuri compare him to a human, or maybe he’d pout and whine at Yuuri for such an ‘unflattering’ comparison. No doubt he’d flop around dramatically until Yuuri relented and withdrew the comparison, or kissed him into submission. 

The mental image of his lover laughing arrests Yuuri; he falters, a hard lump forming in his throat. It’s barely been a week since he left Victor’s manor and journeyed back to Heaven—a piddling amount of time for an angel—but it feels like far longer. The way he misses Victor hurts like a open wound, one that no amount of holy water or sacred fruit will heal. It’s a good thing his kind doesn’t need much sleep at all, or else he’d have been a wreck; he hasn’t managed one wink of rest these past seven days.

Maybe he should just leave. Yuuri stops, glancing up and down the path. There’s no one here; he could head for the gates right now, simply vanish without another word to anyone. 

No, that’s a bad idea. There’ll be guards night or day, of course, but he’ll have less of a risk of encountering others if he waits until darkness, when everyone is at home in their dwellings, or on watch. And he should see his parents one last time. Of everyone, they’ve been the most understanding, even though Yuuri knows they don’t approve of where he’s been. 

Tonight, then. No one word to anyone today; he just… won’t be here in the morning. Yuuri’s cheeks burn with shame at contemplating vanishing again in such a way, but he’s afraid that if he just tells his friends that he’s leaving again—whether or not they approve—they’ll stage some kind of intervention, prevent him from leaving, somehow. And a future without Victor is one he can’t even bear thinking about. 

At least they’ll know he’s alive and healthy, Yuuri thinks to himself. They won’t have to worry that he’s met some gruesome fate. That peace of mind has to be worth something, even if they don’t approve of his choices. 

(Yuuri still doesn’t quite understand how he was even allowed back into Heaven after lying so long with one of the damned. But no one barred his entrance at the pearly gates, and the blessed light of Elysium does not burn his skin or hurt his eyes.)

He’ll leave a note for his mother, he decides. He’ll write her a letter and leave it on his pillow, telling her that he loves her and he’s sorry to vanish again, but she doesn’t need to worry, because he’s going where he’ll be happy and safe. It will hurt her, he knows—but not as much as it would hurt Yuuri to stay here without Victor, to wither away without the love he’s grown to crave as much as Heaven’s light. 

It’s better than nothing. Yuuri picks up his pace again, quickening his stride as he heads back to his mother’s house. Just a few more hours, and then he can head back.

* * * * *

As it turns out, it’s a good thing Yuuri decides to wait. If he’d simply left when he had the impulse, there’s no telling what would have happened—to him, or to Victor.

By the time he gets back to his parents’ house, his sister has already arrived, having taken the shorter of the two routes to their family’s house after Yuuri all but stormed off. In addition, Takeshi and Yuuki, Minako, Phichit, Celestino, and several other angels have arrived, seraphim and otherwise. Yuuri stops outside the house, staring in apprehension at the number of people gathered outside on the lawn. 

“What’s going on?” he asks, as Phichit alights next to him, clad in a glittering robe of green and gold. 

“It’s a welcome-home party,” he says, and pats Yuuri on the shoulder. “We’re celebrating your safe return.”

Yuuri’s stomach turns over. The party is sure to go late, much later than he’d like; it’ll make leaving tonight hard, especially if Minako and Celestino go along with Yuuri’s father and over-indulge on ambrosia and wind up staying over. He supposes he can always leave tomorrow, but even the idea of one more day without heading home feels like a weight around his shoulder.

(And when did Victor’s manor become ‘home’? He doesn’t know. Maybe it doesn’t matter.)

He can’t leave now, though, not now that everyone’s seen him. So Yuuri puts on a smile he only partially feels, and submits to a great deal of dancing and song and drinking, all in his dubious honor. More and more of his kin arrive—probably summoned by Phichit, who seems to know everyone in Elysium—and soon the party is spilling over into the field outside Yuuri’s family’s property. People bring food and drink, and instruments, and soon the air is full of song and cheering and laughter. 

Despite being the guest of honor, Yuuri feels like he’s drunk gut-rot. They’re celebrating him, _his_ safe return, and all he can think about is how soon he can steal away into the darkness to return to Victor’s arms. He’s just glad that most of their guests are getting steadily more intoxicated, and that he’s always had the reputation for being a bit awkward and reserved, because it saves him from having to explain why his smile looks so frozen on his face. 

It’s perhaps three hours into the festivities when there’s a commotion from off to the west. Yuuri glances that direction, expecting yet more party-goers to appear on the horizon—and then his heart all but stops in his chest. 

There are two angels walking towards them, a prisoner between them. Not seraphim guardians, but Powers, the strongest warriors in Heaven. Yuuri recognizes these two; they were some of the guard standing watch at the holy gates when he arrived home the week before. They’re wearing heavy armor and helmets, their swords strapped to their backs between their wings, though only one pair is visible at the moment. 

And walking between them, his shoulders bowed and his hands chained in front of him, is Victor. 

He looks _awful_. The rarefied air of Elysium clearly does not agree with him; he’s lost his human guise, forced into his infernal form instead, and he’s bleeding dark blood from his ears and nose, his eyes red and streaming tears. His horns arch above his head, but they look burnt at the tips, as though scored by fire; Yuuri can see raw skin at his wrists as well, where the handcuffs are chafing him. And he looks like he can hardly walk, barely managing to stay upright between his angelic guards.

All of this Yuuri sees in the span of a moment. The next instant, he’s on his feet, knocking the drink from Phichit’s hand as his friend holds it out to him. “VICTOR!” he yells, frantic, and darts towards his lover.

Instantly, Victor’s head jerks up. “YUURI!” he cries, and tries to start forward. The guards stop him almost immediately, hands on his chained arms. But one of them must spot Yuuri, because after a moment they release Victor, and he breaks away from them. He dashes forward, but his gait is uneven as though he’s been injured, hands held tight in front of his chest.

Yuuri streaks across the open field, heedless of the startled people all around them. Victor falls to his knees as Yuuri reaches him, turning his tear-stained face and chained hands upwards, as though beseeching. 

“Victor,” Yuuri breathes. He drops to his knees as well, throwing his arms around Victor and pulling him close. The heart-stopping joy of seeing his lover, his Master here is tarnished by his horror at witnessing the pain Victor is in right now. 

“Yuuri,” Victor says. His voice is choked, thick with emotion. “I found you—”

“How did you even get in?” Yuuri pulls back, gazing at his lover anxiously. It takes him but a moment to snap the chains on Victor’s wrists; the broken links fall to the ground, the cuffs falling from Victor’s wrists. Yuuri cradles Victor’s face in both hands, heedless of the blood or his singed horns. 

“I came to the gates and told them I was looking for you,” Victor says hoarsely. “They didn’t believe me at first, but I wouldn’t leave until they let me in. They said they would bring me to you.”

Dimly, Yuuri is aware that the music has stopped, that people are gathering around them, but instead of embarrassing him it only makes him feel more protective. He unfolds his wings—all six of them—and folds them around himself and Victor, intent on making sure Victor’s suffering lasts not one minute longer. It doesn’t hide them from view, but it does make it very clear that no one is to lay a hand on Victor while he’s here, demon or no. 

Yuuri murmurs a few words, and gentle warmth blossoms in his fingertips. Victor leans his face into Yuuri’s touch; a few more tears escape as he shuts his eyes for a moment. Yuuri wipes the blood from Victor’s nose and ears, then reaches up to smooth his hands over Victor’s horns, healing them too. Victor submits to all of this, leaning into Yuuri’s touches, eyes never leaving Yuuri’s face. When Yuuri wraps his arms around Victor’s shoulders, Victor finally moves, pulling him into a fierce embrace and burying his face in Yuuri’s hair. 

“I’m sorry,” Victor mumbles, half-lost in Yuuri’s hair. “I know you told me to wait, but I couldn’t. I was—I was so scared they’d make you go back to doing what you did before, and it was so hard without you—”

“Are you the one who kidnapped my son?”

* * * * *

It’s been a long couple of days.

After leaving his manor, Victor travels as fast as he can out of the infernal realms and across the no-man’s lands that border both Heaven and Hell. That’s when things start to get rough. 

First, he comes across a number of graylings—little monsters in form and perversions much like hobgoblins, but smaller and more numerous than their vicious cousins. Hobgoblins tend to travel alone due to their tendency to kill and eat each other on sight, but graylings travel in packs. These particular graylings think Victor seems like easy prey, and attempt to swarm him before he properly realizes they’re there. One gout of purple flame is enough to send them screeching for cover, but Victor still leaves with a few bite marks to show for it. 

After he gets past the graylings, Victor somehow finds himself lost in one of the far countries that no one—human, demon, or angel—has yet charted. He wanders for almost a day in a vast forest, dark and full of ill omens. Also, apparently, full of centaurs, warlike and unfriendly; Victor has never been more glad for his trick of jumping thirty furlongs in a single footstep than he is with a half-dozen enraged centaurs on his tail. 

Once he makes it to the lands outside Heaven, things get yet more complicated. Victor knows the rules, knew them even before Yakov warned him: if he wants to make it anywhere near the gates of Heaven without advertising himself as an enemy, he can’t use any of his infernal magic. In short, he can’t defend himself—he’s never bothered to learn magic that isn’t infernal. And it’s a common misperception that the gates of Heaven lie at the outermost border. In reality, the proverbial pearly gates lie deep inside the divine realms, barring entrance to the innermost city of the divine kingdom, where the Most High and all of Heaven’s angels dwell. The lands outside the gates are still Heaven’s kingdom, and are protected by a great number of mysterious and supernatural wonders. 

Or terrors, depending on your point of view. Victor is privately of the opinion that most of Heaven’s fiercest guardians are just as brick-shittingly terrifying as anything in the infernal realms, but he supposes most residents of Heaven won’t care to hear his thoughts on the matter.

He manages to avoid the flock of phoenixes and the hollow full of wrathful spirits, but so distracted is he by trying to circle far outside the sphinx that he fails to pay attention to where he’s going. 

It’s a mistake—one serious enough to nearly kill him.

Turns out the fields just outside the gates themselves are filled with one of the rarest and most beautiful of Heaven’s creatures—and also the most dangerous. Unicorns, as a breed, are much fiercer than most human legends give them credit for. They’re also the size of draft horses, with knife-sharp horns long as a grown man’s arm. And they are terrifyingly fast. 

Victor discovers all this by walking directly into a herd of the beasts, and only the fact that he is just meters from the forest edge saves him from being immediately gored to death. Even then, he would have died if not for the pair of Powers that come along just in time to keep Victor from falling out of the tree he’s taken refuge in and right onto the unicorns’ horns. 

He doesn’t know that at first, of course; all Victor sees is painful, blinding light from off to his right, followed by a sense of terrible doom. 

The fear makes his fingers go numb, his limbs senseless despite his best efforts. Victor tumbles earthwards with a despairing cry, his last thoughts of Yuuri—and then hits ground instead of sharp horn, all the wind knocked out of him.

“Speak, demon, or be slain,” says a voice. “What brings to you this place?”

Victor cringes at the sound of it, terrible and imbued with the full force of Heaven’s dread. He curls on his side, covering his face with his hands, trying to master himself enough to give an answer. Yakov’s warning fills his mind in the moments before he opens his mouth: _don’t lie. Angels can sense falsehood._

“I—I came to see my lover,” he croaks out. “An angel who returned to Heaven. He promised he would return to me, but I couldn’t bear to be parted from him longer.” Embarrassing, but honest; Victor knows that if he tries to cling to any sort of false modesty, death by unicorn would be preferable to what these beings would do to him. 

No answer. Victor wonders if Yuuri will ever find out, if guardian angels slay Victor here outside of the gates. Then the voice comes again. “Did this angel leave you of his own volition? Why should we believe one of ours would willingly stay with you?”

Victor swallows hard. “He was one of your seraphim guardians,” he says, in a voice that shakes far too much. “I found him wandering outside my home, and asked him to stay. He—he could have left if he wanted to, but I swear, he never asked to go.” 

Again, no answer. The light grows brighter, and the sense of dread worsens; with it now comes heat, pure and fierce and hot like the heart of a star. Victor squeezes his eyes shut, his hands trembling, all the hair on his body standing on end. He can feel his human guise burning away as the light burns bright enough to scorch his horns, his skin. Something in his ears bursts, and then blood trickles out of his ears, wet and warm. 

Maybe they’re just going to incinerate him, so that nothing remains. Maybe he was a fool for coming. _Yuuri_ , he thinks, and lets out a breath he’s holding.

Then, abruptly, the heat and light lessen. “You speak true,” says the voice again, just as impassive as before. “But one such as you cannot enter Heaven. It is forbidden. You are damned, and do not belong here.”

Victor takes another ragged breath, and rolls onto all fours, head hanging between his shoulders. His entire body throbs in the wake of that fearful light, but he pushes it aside. “I know,” he says shakily. “I know I don’t. But please, I just want to see him. I—I need to see him, I can’t go on without him. Please—”

His voice catches. Distantly, Victor realizes that he’s begging, and then lets it go. “—please, I’ll do anything. Have mercy.” 

Never in his life has Victor invoked those two words, the plea that no angel is allowed to ignore. But never in his life has he had such need. The moment stretches out, elongates, encompassing a lifetime, and still no answer comes. Victor stares at the ground, not even breathing. He doesn’t dare raise his head; he’s remembering what happened when Yuuri smote the demon army before Victor’s home, and wonders if he’s about to find out what that felt like. 

“Tell us his name,” says the voice, at long last. “We will take you to him.”

Victor lets out the breath he was holding, and slumps against the ground, face in the dirt. “Yuuri,” he says shakily. “Katsuki Yuuri.”

This is how Victor finds himself in holy chains, staggering between a pair of angels as they make their way through Heaven. The Powers are so alien and fearsome they make the corpse demon Victor slew so long ago protecting Yuuri seem personable. But really, they are the least of Victor’s concerns.

The very air of Elysium hurts him. Every breath scorches his throat and lungs, and he can already feel the divine light searing his eyes, slowly blinding him. His nose has started to bleed to match his damaged eardrums; the chains on his wrists chafe and burn, their holiness eating away at his skin. Victor has never properly understood what pain was until this moment, when every step is agony. 

He doesn’t know how long it takes to travel across the golden fields. No one approaches them or bars their way, at least. But over the rise of another hill comes the sound of merry-making, voices raised in song and laughter. They crest the hill, Victor stumbling and nearly falling, and then a shout comes that cleaves his tongue to the roof of his mouth.

“VICTOR!”

Victor’s stomach lurches. “YUURI!” he cries, and lurches forward. But he’s too crippled by his journey to make it far, and he falls to his knees as his beloved all but flies across the field to Victor’s side.

At the touch of Yuuri’s hand, all the misery and heartache falls from Victor, all his pain and loneliness and sorrow. He abruptly finds himself leaking tears, registering his awful appearance only distantly as Yuuri wraps his arms around Victor’s neck. “Yuuri,” Victor croaks. “I found you—”

“How did you even get in?” 

“I came to the gates and told them I was looking for you,” says Victor. Yuuri snaps Victor’s chains and then cradles Victor’s face in both hands, pure warmth and tenderness in his fingers. Victor slumps, leaning into that touch that he’s craved above all else. “They didn’t believe me at first, but I wouldn’t leave until they let me in. They said—they said they would bring me to you.”

If other things are happening in that field, Victor is lost to it. Nothing else exists for him but Yuuri’s touch, Yuuri’s beautiful eyes, the softness and concern in Yuuri’s face. Distantly, Victor is ashamed to have his darling see him like this, to see his Master reduced to such a pathetic state, but he’s too overcome to spend much energy on it. Yuuri murmurs words in a language Victor doesn’t understand, gently touching every spot where Victor is bleeding or raw, and then he unfolds all six of his great black wings, enfolding him and Victor both. 

Victor can’t handle it. He pulls Yuuri against him, burying his face in Yuuri’s hair with a groan. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, more helpless tears stinging his eyes. “I know you told me to wait, but I couldn’t. I was—I was so scared they’d make you go back to doing what you did before, and it was so hard without you—”

“Are you the one who kidnapped my son?”

Victor looks up. Just barely visible past the barrier of Yuuri’s wings, a woman stands before them: short and chubby, dark hair and green robes and glasses. Behind her is a man her age, as well as a woman who looks roughly Yuuri’s age. All three of them bear more than a passing resemblance to Yuuri, except that right now none of them share Yuuri’s tender expression. 

In fact, they look deadly serious. Victor swallows hard.

Yuuri pulls back, re-folding his wings somewhat, but he doesn’t let go of Victor. He opens his mouth to speak, but Victor touches his shoulder and Yuuri pauses, glancing back at Victor instead. “I kept Yuuri in my home this past year, yes,” says Victor. “But I didn’t kidnap him. I found Yuuri wandering not far from my home, and I asked him to come stay with me for a little while. He accepted. And then …the longer he stayed, the more I hoped he would never leave.”

“The less willing you were to let him leave, you mean,” says the younger woman, the one Victor thinks is Yuuri’s sister. “He doesn’t belong down there, and you tricked him into staying. He’s a seraphim guardian, not some demon’s pet.” 

“Why won’t you listen to me?” Yuuri demands, before Victor can answer. “Why is it so hard to believe that I would want to stay with him? Do you think I’m lying? That I’m too pathetic to be able to tell when I’m being lied to?” He stands up, helping Victor to his feet as well; Victor is grateful that his lover is here to help steady him, or else he’s not sure he’d be able to stay upright on his own. 

He’s worried, though, that things are about to get ugly. They’re surrounded now, what looks like the entire party of Yuuri’s divine cousins gathered around them in a loose circle. The two Powers that brought Victor this far are still here, standing by with impassive expressions on their face; Victor notices their hands resting loosely on the pommels of their swords, half-hidden by their armor. 

But no one has approached yet. In fact, Victor notices, everyone seems to be watching Yuuri’s family—Yuuri’s mother, in particular. And Yuuri’s mother is watching all this with an expression that Victor can’t parse, doesn’t know how to interpret. 

“Yuuri’s not a guardian anymore, Mari,” says a new voice; Victor turns and sees another woman with dark hair pulled back from her face. “He quit. Even before he met this demon, he didn’t want to be here. Is that right, Yuuri?”

“I—” Yuuri flushes. He glances from Victor, and then back out at the eyes that are all turned towards him. “No,” he says, and exhales heavily. “Minako’s right. I’m sorry for being a disappointment, but …I don’t want to be here. I didn’t want to be anywhere, until I met Victor.”

“And he came all this way, even into Heaven, to come find you,” says another angel, a handsome boy with black hair and a thoughtful expression. “He must have missed you pretty badly to come all this way, huh.” 

“I would do anything to be with Yuuri,” says Victor, voice rough.. “He’s worth any amount of trial.” He tightens his arm around Yuuri’s waist; Yuuri doesn’t look at him, but Victor can see the way his face is turning red. 

Yuuri’s sister—Mari, that’s her name—looks grumpy at this announcement. But either she’s unwilling to argue with the two angels who spoke up on Yuuri’s behalf, or she can sense Victor’s painful honesty, because she doesn’t say anything else. 

Yuuri’s mother approaches them then. Victor can feel the way Yuuri tenses up as she draws near, but it’s not Yuuri she’s looking at—it’s Victor. She stops in front of him, staring up at him with an expression that says she can see right through him, all the way to his core. Victor can only stare back, feeling very small and helpless beneath her scrutiny.

But whatever she sees in his eyes must satisfy her, because her face softens. “Thank you for taking care of Yuuri,” she says, and her voice is warm. “When he told me he found someone who made him happy, I should have listened to him instead of dismissing it. But I see that you care for him as much as he deserves.”

Victor swallows. He’s a full foot and a half taller than Yuuri’s mother right now, in his infernal form, but despite his horns and the red glow of his eyes, he feels puny and insignificant next to Yuuri’s mother. “Thank you,” he says helplessly. “I—I am sorry for disturbing your celebration, but—”

“Don’t be sorry,” says Yuuri. Victor and Yuuri’s mother both look at him. “It’s better this way. Um…” He takes a deep breath, and takes Victor’s hand again. “Mom… this is Victor.”

Yuuri’s mother smiles. She reaches up, Victor crouching a little so that she can reach his face, and then she brushes her fingers across his forehead. Immediately, golden light blooms beneath her touch, spreading throughout Victor’s face. Victor shivers, shocked at the warmth and calm that comes in its wake.

“You have my blessing, Victor,” says Yuuri’s mother. “Now please come join us, so we can properly congratulate you and Yuuri.” 

Victor feels his face burn, but his reaction is nothing compared to Yuuri’s. Yuuri flushes, his eyes suddenly bright; for a few moments he can’t even speak. Victor sees him swallow, the muscles of his throat working. Yuuri’s mother beams at him, and then Yuuri throws his arms around her, hiding his wet face against her hair as she hugs him back. Then she hugs Victor next—Victor hears the choked laugh Yuuri gives at the sight of Victor crouching to hug Yuuri’s tiny, incomprehensibly terrifying mother. 

But her declaration seems to decide things. If others still have reservations, they are wise enough to keep them to themselves. Once it becomes apparent that everyone will simply be returning to their celebration and that their services are not needed, the two Powers who accompanied Victor here from the gates leave.

Victor can’t help but be grateful; he knows little about the angels and their kinds beyond what Yuuri has told him, but Powers seem utterly alien to him, especially compared to how warm and lovely Yuuri is. He knows that they are just, and merciless, and terrifyingly strong, and he knows that compassion is not their strong suit. So he’s just as happy to see them go when they decide they are no longer needed. 

One by one, Yuuri’s friends and kin come up to introduce themselves to Victor, and to wish him and Yuuri well. With Yuuri’s mother (whose name is Hiroko) having given her blessing, Victor finds he is no longer suffering under the burn of Heaven’s blessed light, so he’s able to shift back into his less-alarming human guise. None of Yuuri’s friends or family are remotely fooled, of course, but looking less outwardly infernal is probably better for putting everyone at ease.

Victor sticks close by Yuuri’s side almost the whole time, more than a little afraid Yuuri will vanish from his sight again if he takes his eyes off him for even a moment. Yuuri seems grateful for it; he all but glues himself to Victor’s hip or keeps a hand on Victor the entire night. They’re only separated twice: once when Yuuri’s friend Takeshi drunkenly challenges Victor to an arm-wrestling contest, and once when Mari asks to talk to Yuuri privately, leaving Victor to his own devices. Other than that, they’re inseparable.

And much as they had when they were at Victor’s parties, the two of them end up mostly refraining from partaking of anything. Well, anything beyond Yuuri’s mother’s cooking, which is so good Victor would call it sinful if he were feeling like taking his life in his hands. Abstaining is Victor’s idea, but Yuuri seems happy enough to agree. 

(“Much as I would love to try that delicious-looking ambrosia,” Victor murmurs to Yuuri, “I think I won’t push your mother’s blessing quite that far. I’m not sure what it would do to me.”

“Best case scenario, it would get you extremely drunk, like it does my father,” says Yuuri. He glances down the field, to where Yuuri’s father is dancing with several other angels. He looks like he’s having the actual time of his life, having polished off three chalices of ambrosia by himself.

Victor casts a sidelong glance at Yuuri, sly. “Do _you_ take after your father when you’re that drunk?”

Yuuri turns red. “You’re not finding out today,” he says, and elbows Victor in the side when his face lights up anyway. “No!”)

The party goes late into the night, much later than Victor would like. But despite how he’s itching to be gone already, he knows an angel and a demon stealing through the front gates in the dead of night might paint the wrong kind of picture, no matter whose blessing they both carry. So when the party finally winds down, and all their guests have left or passed out in a guest room, they pile into Yuuri’s old bed together and wrap around each other more tightly than an ouroboros. 

“What was that your sister pulled you aside for?” Victor asks softly. They’ve worn themselves out kissing and are now idly tangled up in each other—both of them want more, but neither of them are willing to pursue it here in Yuuri’s bed. That might also have to do with the exhaustion they’re both feeling, however.

“She wanted to apologize,” says Yuuri. He sounds relieved, which Victor is very grateful for. “She’s just protective of me. She’s always been a good big sister.”

Victor gazes at him. “Are you still upset with her?” he asks, because he may be worn down from his trip here, but he can still read Yuuri like a book. 

Yuuri sighs. “Of course I am,” he says, “but I’m glad she apologized. I just… didn’t want to leave on bad terms.”

That was what he wanted to hear. Victor wants Yuuri to be happy, to have no unfinished business, so that when they leave together, he’ll have no regrets twisting at his insides.

Victor kisses the spot between Yuuri’s eyes, then presses their foreheads together. Yuuri shuts his eyes, leaning into Victor’s touch. Then Victor says, “I still can’t believe your friend wanted to challenge me to an arm-wrestling contest. What did he think was going to happen?”

“I think he thought you were going to refuse,” says Yuuri, grinning. Victor snorts. 

Yuuri brushes his fingers along Victor’s cheek, and Victor shuts his eyes, leaning into the soft touches. Now that they’re alone, Victor has finally relaxed, let his horns reappear. He nuzzles into Yuuri’s palm, the warmth of his skin and the scent of his darling’s hair a better balm than any holy blessing. 

Still. That doesn’t mean what he went through was _fun_. “Your friends are ridiculous,” Victor says, grumpy.

“You’re just mad that Takeshi beat you,” says Yuuri, and kisses Victor’s mouth. Victor makes a put-out noise, but he keeps his eyes shut anyway, leaning into Yuuri’s soft kiss.

They do nothing more for several minutes, kissing with no intent of anything beyond that. It feels so good to have Yuuri back in his arms again; it may have been only a week, but to Victor it felt like an entire lifetime.

“Say,” says Victor, after enough time has passed that Yuuri’s breathing is starting to even out beside him. “I did have a question.”

“Alright, but it’s the last one,” says Yuuri groggily. He opens one eye to peer at Victor over the swell of Victor’s shoulder, where his head is pillowed against Victor’s upper arm.

“I was expecting more argument from your friends and family when I showed up, but after your mom blessed me, no one said a word,” says Victor. “Not even your sister, or your friend with the arm-wrestling.” 

“Ah,” says Yuuri. He smiles, letting his eyes shut again. “That’s because my mother is the leader of the seraphim guardians.”

“The leader of the—” Victor breaks off. His heart beats an ambitious vivace inside his chest as he considers how things might have gone if Hiroko had decided she didn’t trust Victor. “…I see.” 

“Good,” says Yuuri. “Now let’s get some rest. I haven’t been able to sleep since I left your house.”

“Okay,” Victor says, voice soft. He presses another kiss to Yuuri’s cheek and then settles in, readjusting their limbs slightly so they can slot more closely together. Yuuri is asleep before Victor’s even done, his face tucked against Victor’s shoulder, his face peaceful.

Victor thinks again of everything he went through to get here, everything they might end up giving up. One look at Yuuri’s sleeping face, and he knows that it’s worth it, all of it.

* * * * *

Yuuri gets Victor up early the next morning, before the sun has even started its ascent, so they can be on their way. Victor still seems tired—enough that Yuuri frets over just what he went through for them to be reunited—but he rouses easily enough under Yuuri’s kisses. 

They’re planning to head to Victor’s manor house, first, to regroup, and to consider what options they have for a permanent place to live. Victor is of the opinion that Hell isn’t a good place for them to stay any longer, and Yuuri has to agree; they’ll only draw the worst sort of attention if they stay in the infernal realms. But at least they’ll be able to make the journey back together. 

Much as Yuuri’s family would like them to stay in Heaven, they also seem to understand. Toshiyo and even Mari both hug Yuuri and then Victor as they prepare to take their leave, and Yuuri’s mother does the same before kissing them both on the cheek. Yuuri watches as she renews her blessing on Victor’s temple, enough that it’ll protect him during the journey to the gates of Heaven, and beyond. 

“Please come visit again soon, Yuuri,” she says. “Don’t wait another two years before you come see us. And Victor, you can come too.” It’s put as an offer, an invitation, but Yuuri guesses that his mother will be disappointed if he returns without Victor in tow. His family offers to see them to the edges of the no-man’s lands outside Heaven, but Yuuri assures them that it isn’t needed and that they’ll be fine on their own. 

He regrets the decision almost immediately, but it isn’t until they’re almost two hours’ travel outside Heaven’s gates that he truly realizes what a stupid mistake it was.

Leaving the Elysian fields turns out to be an exercise in frustration. Victor sticks close to Yuuri’s side, which is good, because unfriendly angels keep appearing—on guard and even fully armed, a few times—having sensed the presence of a demon. Each time, Yuuri steps forward, introducing himself and Victor, and showing them his mother’s blessing; each time, his fellows stand down. And each time, Yuuri can feel the way Victor tenses at his side, unwilling to fight in Yuuri’s home and cause strife, but equally unwilling to be torn away from Yuuri’s side.

It’s exhausting. By the time they finally get free of the kingdom of Heaven, Victor’s normally-cheerful demeanor is wan, stretched thin like an old sheet. But every time Yuuri asks him if he’s alright, Victor summons a bright, fake smile. 

“I’m fine as long as I have you, Yuuri,” he says, and kisses Yuuri’s cheek. 

Yuuri is not convinced. Not for a second. He leads them past the field of unicorns, out through the many vicious creatures that guard the lands outside Heaven. Yuuri is avoiding flying, for now, simply because it would take more energy than he wants to expend to carry Victor and fly them overland—and also, the energy signature would be advertising their presence more than he would like. So they walk. 

He wants to wait until they’re past the dark forest that’s part of the no-man’s-land before the human realms, but a few hours outside the gates he can’t put it off any longer. Yuuri takes Victor’s arm and leads him off the road, into a thicket of scrubby trees that provide some shelter and privacy.

“Victor,” he says, firmly. “Talk to me.”

“I told you, I’m fine,” says Victor. He won’t look Yuuri in the eyes when he says it, instead staring at a spot just past his left temple. 

Yuuri bites his lip, considering. He thinks he knows what Victor needs, can guess at what the journey here cost him—what having Yuuri walk away from him might have done. But how to achieve it, is the question. His lover is proud, and Yuuri knows Victor wants to appear strong, to be the Master, to not need support. 

He also knows that, more than anything, Victor needs to feel in control again. And Yuuri thinks he knows how to do it. 

Yuuri takes both of Victor’s hands and places them against his throat, encircling the column of his neck. “Master,” he says, softer. Victor jerks his head up, staring at Yuuri with wide eyes. “Please. Put your collar on me again.”

Victor lets out a rough exhale. His hands tremble against Yuuri’s neck, before tightening a little. “I thought you didn’t want to wear it anymore,” he says in a low voice. To Yuuri’s shock, he sounds close to tears.

“I didn’t want anyone to harass us more while we were still in Heaven,” Yuuri says. “But I couldn’t sleep without it. Without you.”

Victor takes a deep breath. The smile he gives Yuuri this time is watery, but real. “My Yuuri,” he murmurs, barely intelligible through the rasp in his voice. Then he lets his eyes half-shut, concentrating as he pours magic into his hands. Yuuri leans into his lover’s touch, shutting his eyes too as the familiar warmth wraps around his throat, Victor’s essence singing through the magically-conjured fabric. 

In a moment, it’s done. Yuuri presses up against Victor, wrapping his arms around his lover’s waist and tilting his own face up for a kiss. Victor cradles Yuuri’s face in both of his hands, kissing him softly. 

“I can’t imagine how hard it must have been to come here and let them chain you like they did,” Yuuri whispers, half-lost against Victor’s lips. “What you had to suffer through just to reach me.”

“You’re worth it,” says Victor. He pulls back, staring into Yuuri’s face from up close. “I would do it again. I would do whatever it takes.”

“I know,” Yuuri says. And in that moment, he does. He could never doubt the look in Victor’s eyes right now. “But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t hard for you. Let me make it better, Victor. Please tell me what you need.”

Once more, Victor tries to deflect. “All I need is you, sweet thing,” he says, and smiles. 

The pet name Victor gave him the very first night Yuuri came into his bed is one he hasn’t heard in too long. Yuuri swallows past the lump in his throat, determined. “You have me, Master,” he whispers. “Command me. I’m yours.”

Victor stills. He rubs his thumb along Yuuri’s cheekbone, the barest caress; his expression is deep and fathomless as the sea. “Are you sure?” he asks, finally. His voice is rough with poorly-suppressed longing. “We don’t even have a new home yet. If you aren’t—”

“I’m sure,” Yuuri cuts in. “I promise. Whatever you want, I want to give it to you.”

Victor swallows. He shuts his eyes for a moment, visibly summoning his strength. The words come out in a rush, Victor’s fingers twitching against Yuuri’s shoulder where he’s suddenly gripping Yuuri’s robe very tightly. 

“I want to take you apart,” he says. “My darling, I want to break you. I-I—”

“I want that too,” Yuuri says, before Victor can walk it back or apologize. Victor’s eyes fly open, and with a little stab of consternation Yuuri sees tears glimmering there, unshed. 

“Whenever we get to your house,” says Yuuri, “we can—”

A deafening roar interrupts him; Yuuri has just enough time to swing around and see the trees across the way shaking before something huge and _fast_ bursts through them. He gets a split-second impression of size and flames and great velocity, and then Victor’s grabbing him and yanking him out of the way.

Just in time—the thing blows past them, screaming as it smashes through the spot they were just standing in. Yuuri stumbles and would have fallen if not for Victor’s vice-like grip on his arm; he’s too busy staring in shock at the guardian that very nearly murdered them where they stood. 

“What the fuck _is_ that?” shouts Victor. He hauls Yuuri to his feet, and then they’re both dashing towards the path they were on before, running as fast as they can from the creature hard on their heels. 

“It’s an ophanim!” Yuuri yells back. “You can’t reason with it, it won’t listen—we have to run! Just go!” 

The ophanim—many-eyed, flame-wreathed, wheel-within-wheel defender of the holy—is already catching up to them again. Yuuri can feel its scorching breath on the back of his neck, knows the defender is too fast for them to outrun on foot. He launches himself into the air in the nick of time, dragging Victor with him as they erupt skywards from the cover of the trees, and the ophanim roars past just under their feet. 

The guardian screams, see-sawing back and forth beneath them in frustration as Yuuri takes them higher, out of its reach. Victor clings to Yuuri as they get high enough to breast the tree-tops, and then hides his face against Yuuri’s neck with a groan. 

“I have to admit, I thought we’d get assaulted by fewer heavenly creatures on our way out,” he says. He’s trying for light-hearted, Yuuri can tell, but the shake in his voice gives him away. “Aren’t you one of Heaven’s children? Why would it attack you?”

Yuuri was wondering the same thing, but even as Victor asks it, the answer comes to him. “Because I’m wearing your collar, demonic magic,” Yuuri says heavily. “It thinks I’m corrupted.” 

There’s a pause. “That’s ridiculous,” says Victor, and he sounds angry now. Yuuri supposes, distantly, that it’s an improvement over depressed and distant.

He remembers now that he took Victor’s collar off before he made the journey through the heavenly lands, wanting to avoid drama for as much of his trip as possible. It hadn’t occurred to him then what having the collar on might have meant to the various guardians of the holy lands outside the kingdom of Heaven. 

Armed with this knowledge, they manage to avoid running afoul of any other guardians on their way out of Heaven. Yuuri flies them to the no-man’s lands that border the divine realms, and there they rest for the night in a tent of Victor’s fashioning—one with a convenient ward of invisibility to protect them from travelers or wandering monsters. 

They do not return to the conversation they were having when the ophanim so rudely interrupted them; Yuuri can read the weariness in Victor even if his lover doesn’t say so. For his own part, Yuuri is also thoroughly exhausted. Flying that far while carrying another is certainly not beyond his abilities, but between fleeing from the ophanim, his concern for his lover, and the general lack of rest he had before Victor came to Heaven, he’s not at his finest, currently. 

Three days of walking (interspersed with random bouts of terror) later, they’re finally on the outskirts of Hell. “It’ll be good to rest for awhile,” says Victor. “We can take our time, figure out where we should go from here.” 

“I like that idea,” says Yuuri, and reaches over to squeeze Victor’s hand. 

Yuuri is glad that his lover has perked up as they’ve left the Elysian fields and its environs behind them. After having seen Heaven again, with all its golden fields and bright sunlight, he’s not exactly thrilled to be in the darker, gloomier climes of Hell, even though it seems to make Victor happy.

And Victor is worth it. Yuuri would spend a thousand years in the dark and cold, so long as Victor was his side.

They’re going on foot now, though not by choice. As soon as they reached the edges of the infernal realms, Victor took Yuuri’s hand and tried to vanish them, to walk thirty furlongs in a single step—a spell Yuuri’s seen him do countless times with no issues. But this time, they took barely two steps before smacking flat up against something hard and unforgiving that knocked them right out of phase. 

“What was that?” Yuuri had asked, wincing and rubbing at his jaw. He’d smashed his face against… whatever it was. Neither of them had seen anything—it had been just like an invisible wall preventing them from walking. 

“I’m not sure,” Victor said, but something about his expression and his grim tone of voice told Yuuri that he had a guess. But he would say nothing more, and so they walked.

That was yesterday morning. They’ve made good time, at least, enough on guard that they’ve avoided most of the dangers in this part of the realms. Yuuri’s trying not to worry, especially since Victor seems in better spirits now than he was, and they’re at most a day’s journey from Victor’s manor.

“When we get there, let’s just rest for awhile,” says Yuuri. 

Victor glances over at him and smiles, his face warming with a mischievousness Yuuri hasn’t seen in what feels like far too long. “Oh, I mean, if you need to rest, we can,” he says lightly. “But that wasn’t quite what I had in mind.”

Yuuri can feel himself turning red—which is ridiculous, considering all the things they’ve done together, but the wickedness in Victor’s tone of voice still manages to make him so self-conscious. “We’ll do whatever you want to do,” he says, because that’s all he wants, really. 

Victor sidles over to him, lowering his voice as he brushes his fingertips along the back of Yuuri’s arm. “What I want is to turn you black and blue and make you scream my name,” he all but purrs. Yuuri breaks out in goose-bumps just at that soft touch, a shiver of reaction and lust going right through him. 

Good. That’s good, he thinks; maybe all Victor needs, what they both need, is some privacy and some time to focus on just the two of them. With a rush, Yuuri realizes that _he_ also badly wants that—wants to be able to surrender and put the anxiety of being back in Heaven behind him. 

“I want that too,” he says, belatedly. Victor was looking a little nervous for a moment, but at Yuuri’s response he beams. “I missed you so much, I need that.”

“I need it too,” Victor says, and squeezes Yuuri’s hand. “In fact, let’s try to phase home again, shall we? Perhaps now we’re past the barrier.”

Barrier? “What barrier?” Yuuri asks. 

Victor sighs. “Heaven is not the only place with various defenses in the realms outside its walls,” says Victor. “Not that nearly as many people are clamoring to get into Hell, but there are old defenses from when the divine war still raged, to prevent angels and their armies from encroaching unchallenged. One of the magical defenses prevents anything resembling teleportation by angelic forces.”

“Oh,” says Yuuri, and then frowns. “But why would the barrier stop you?”

“For the same reason the ophanim attacked you,” says Victor. “I left the kingdom of Heaven mostly unscathed, and with a guardian angel’s blessing.”

“Oh,” says Yuuri again, and his face falls. 

“It’s worth trying again,” says Victor lightly. He takes Yuuri’s hand, and once again his magic blurs the air around them as they vanish into thin air—

—only to smash hard against that invisible wall yet again, knocked backwards hard enough to rattle their teeth. Yuuri tumbles to the ground this time, Victor alongside of him, both of them wincing and rubbing at their heads. 

“This is ridiculous,” says Victor irritably. “We have your family’s blessing and we still can’t rest in peace. What next?”

Yuuri opens his mouth to warn _don’t say that_ , but it’s too late. There’s an earth-shaking roar that comes from around the huge outcropping of rock up ahead. Yuuri’s heart vaults up into his throat at the sight of the beast that emerges from behind the rocks. 

It’s a dragon: huge and long and low-slung like one of earth’s vicious lizards, its pebbled hide is black and scored with great cracks, revealing veins of what look for all the world like lava, pulsing hot and deadly. It’s wingless, but its long tail is studded with jagged fins; at the sight of Victor and Yuuri it rears up on said tail and opens its mouth in a deafening scream.

Victor exhales sharply. “Yuuri, _run_ ,” he says, and they bolt.

The earth vibrates under their feet as the dragon gives chase, screaming its rage at their backs. Yuuri makes the mistake of throwing a look over his shoulder, and nearly stumbles and falls at the mouth full of black teeth and lava that greets his eyes. 

“Back the way we came!” Victor yells. “Yuuri, keep going, I’m going to distract it!” And before Yuuri can stop him, Victor darts off, sprinting diagonally away from Yuuri. The dragon slows, its great head swiveling back and forth between Victor and Yuuri—and then Victor hurls a ball of purple fire at its snout, and with a snarl of fury it follows him.

But Yuuri’s had enough. Victor told him of everything he went through just to make it to Heaven’s doors, and between the harassment from Yuuri’s fellow angels and the flight from the ophanim, Yuuri is tired of running. After escaping all of Heaven’s wrath, he’s not about to watch some demonic beast hurt his lover.

He launches himself into the air, all six of his wings erupting as he summons his sword and shield to his hands. He can’t summon his full power, not without hurting Victor as well, but that doesn’t mean he’s defenseless. 

“Don’t look back!” he calls, already gathering holy fire into the blade of his sword. Yuuri soars higher, his sword glowing brighter and brighter as Yuuri calls power into it. He raises the sword over his head, and then swings it hard through the air—a blast of holy power bursts from it, directly at the dragon—

—and then bounces right off its scaly hide. Yuuri shouts in alarm as the blast of energy he sent earthwards rebounds and nearly hits him; it singes his side as it erupts towards the sky, the energy dissipating into thin air. 

The dragon’s distracted from chasing Victor, though. It turns, snarling and snapping its huge jaws in Yuuri’s direction; as far as Yuuri can tell, his blast did no damage at all. 

“Its hide is too thick!” shouts Victor, confirming Yuuri’s thoughts. “It’s a lava monster, the only thing that can hurt is water!”

Blast and damnation. Where the hell are they going to find water around _here_? Yuuri soars above the dragon, wondering if he should just grab Victor and run for it, but he’s already tiring. After their long journey here, and how little real rest they’ve both had, he doesn’t think he can stay in the air long enough to get them out of harm’s way. 

He folds his wings and dives, soaring down to alight next to his lover. “I can’t hurt it without destroying you too,” he says breathlessly, as he touches down. “We have to just run—”

“Can you blast a hole in the ground?” Victor demands. “The river Styx emerges near here, but it runs underground before that. We might be able to free some ground water.”

Yuuri’s eyes widen. “Keep it distracted,” he says, and vaults skywards again. 

It’s a near thing. Yuuri soars higher until he spots the mouth of the river in question, black and fathomless and much, much too far to be useful against this beast. He selects a spot some hundred meters away from Victor but in the direction that the river runs, and starts blasting away at the same piece of earth, over and over and over. Finally a hole forms, and to Yuuri’s exhausted relief water starts to well up into it from beneath—slowly at first, and then faster and faster as the compromised ground gives way to the water from the subterranean river just below it. 

“Victor, this way!” he cries, and wings back to where Victor is still dashing back and forth, trying to keep the beast occupied. His lover is tiring too, Yuuri can tell: running hither and yon, flinging bolts of purple flame at the beast, a trick which has mostly just been infuriating it. The dragon’s hide is as impenetrable to Victor’s claws and flames as it was to Yuuri’s holy fire, and Yuuri can smell the rotten-egg stench of cooling lava from where it’s attempted to boil Victor alive with its vomitus. 

Victor runs towards him, and Yuuri keeps pace with him, flying just above where Victor is running. The beast gives chase, too angry and stupid to know it’s being led into a trap; it’s catching up with Victor, stampeding behind him by just yards now. 

Yuuri waits until the last possible moment to snatch Victor from the very lip of the hole, his heart in his throat as he gives one last great burst and drags them into the air. The dragon screams and surges forward, its mouth snapping shut on thin air—and then it overbalances at the lip of the hole, and topples forward into the pit of murky water.

They circle over the hole, watching as the beast sinks beneath the dark water; its screams bubble under the surface, and then to Yuuri’s shock the water starts to solidify into dark mud as the lava under the beast’s skin cools rapidly. A plume of acrid smoke erupts from the pit, and they have to circle out of the way as it stings Yuuri’s eyes, like ash from an active volcano. The stench is unbelievable.

Yuuri lands heavily with Victor in his arms, both of them nearly toppling over as they hit ground. Victor leans against Yuuri, and Yuuri wraps his arms around his lover, panting hard. They’re both so worn out that it’s all they can do to stay upright as they cling to each other and try to catch their breath. 

Yuuri shuts his eyes, leaning into Victor; he wraps his wings around his lover again, as if to protect them from all the trial and disapproval and danger that has tried to waylay them this far. “I don’t think I want to go any further into Hell,” he says raggedly.

He hears Victor sigh, heavy and resigned. “Me either,” Victor says. “But I don’t know where else to go.”

“I don’t know, either,” says Yuuri. “But I’m tired of being attacked.”

They rest awhile there, within sight of the issue in the earth that now houses the corpse of the lava monster. But the air stinks of sulfur and ash, and they both know that it won’t be long before something else will come along to assault them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Victor and Yuuri are ridiculous, co-dependent weenies in every single universe, the end.


	5. Encore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri and Victor find a new home---but first, they have to find themselves, together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **PLEASE NOTE:** This chapter is VERY nsfw, and contains rather heavy painplay/BDSM (with lots of feelings, as always). 
> 
> This is it, the last chapter! Thank you so much for all your kind comments and for your patience as I finished this fic ~~that was supposed to be a one-shot, WHOOPS~~. All of the kisses go to my wonderful, endlessly patient beta, who makes everything I do better and is the best friend I could ask for. Also: there are a number of gorgeous fanarts I got for this fic, that I will link as soon as I track them down on twitter.
> 
> Speaking of twitter, you can find me there @wonderthighs41. I scream about nonsense and RT lots of fannish things, and I'd love to hear from you. 
> 
> I have received SO MUCH BEAUTIFUL ART for this, and I took way too long to link it, but here it is!
> 
> [Yuuri in his beautiful star dress](https://twitter.com/butleronduty/status/939159239066501125) by butleronduty on Twitter!  
> [Victor and Yuuri together](https://twitter.com/TSiebenstein/status/899687821547581440) by TSiebenstein on Twitter!!  
> [Seraphim! Yuuri about to wreck some demons' shit](https://twitter.com/Tesereil/status/878845282494152704) by Tsereil on Twitter!!  
> [Yuuri in his beautiful collar Victor made for him](https://twitter.com/shizax/status/871898334423900162) by Shizax on Twitter!  
> [Horned demon Victor and wingless angel Yuuri](https://twitter.com/insidetwizzles/status/911970649572126720) by insidetwizzles on Twitter!!
> 
> Please go give them a retweet and a like on Twitter and tell them how beautiful their art is! Thank you SO MUCH, again!! And thanks again for reading!

Victor may be three thousand years old, but the past two weeks have felt like the longest of his entire life.

Two weeks has been enough time for Victor to see his beloved walk away from him; to grow sad and weary of his own lonely existence in Hell without Yuuri; to traverse the dangers between Hell and Heaven and only barely come out alive—and to find that despite finally being reunited with his beloved, nowhere they go will have them. 

The guardians of Hell are not what you would call _friendly_ , but most won’t attack its denizens unless provoked. To be hounded as relentlessly as any angel or heavenly missionary cuts Victor to his very core. Yuuri chose to leave Heaven and his duties behind—and what that cost him, Victor is only just starting to truly appreciate—but to be quite literally chased out of the infernal realms, where he was born and has lived for more than three thousand years…. Victor doesn’t know what they’re going to do.

But all he has to do to remind himself why he chose this path is look at his darling, fast asleep beside him. Yuuri and Victor both exhausted themselves during the fight with the lava dragon, and pitched a rudimentary tent perhaps two hundred meters from the lip of the hole Yuuri blasted in the ground to trap the monster. Too tired to stay awake themselves to post a guard, Victor managed to summon a shade that would warn them of anything that came too close, and then they passed out.

Victor woke first, his anxiety worrying at his throat like a hellhound. He shook it off enough to watch Yuuri sleep, the slow rise and fall of his chest as inevitable and beautiful as the tide; he sneaks a hand over to take one of Yuuri’s, and kisses his lover’s temple very gently. 

Yuuri stirs, turning and rolling onto his stomach. He flings out an arm, grabbing Victor and tugging him closer, nuzzling into his side. “Too soon to be awake,” he mumbles. 

Victor smiles, more than happy to allow himself to be pulled down again. He snakes an arm around Yuuri’s waist and drags them closer together, pressing his face into Yuuri’s hair as Yuuri glues himself to Victor’s chest. “Hello, sweet thing,” he says softly. “We should get going soon. Much as I would rather stay here in your arms.”

Yuuri makes a put-out noise, bristling like he’s going to draw his sword right here in their tent, and then deflates. “I know,” he says. “But where are we even going to go?”

“I was thinking about that,” says Victor. He idly runs his fingers through Yuuri’s hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. “I don’t think it would work long-term, but we could go to one of my dwellings in the mortal realms until we figure out what we want to do. It would at least be safer than staying here, or returning to your people.”

“I suppose you’re right,” says Yuuri after a few moments. He sounds doubtful, which hurts a little, but Victor supposes he can hardly be blamed. It’s been a difficult few days, after all. And everywhere that should have been safe for them has turned out to be very much not.

But for once, their journey is unplagued by monsters or threats. They leave Hell without much incident—their shade cries a warning as they leave their impromptu camp, but it turns out to only be a couple of gremlins, who scamper for cover as soon as Victor calls his demonic fire. 

If the human world notices that they’re there, or wishes them gone, it gives no sign. No man or beast blocks their way as they pass through the Forest of Arden on the outmost edges of the mortal realms. No sentinels appear to chase them off as they leave the forest and materialize in the human world on the outskirts of the French hamlet Victor owns a home in.

It’s on Victor’s tongue to say something, but a warm hand sneaking into his cuts him off. Victor glances up at Yuuri and sees his lover’s expression calmer and more content than it’s been since before Modai came with his army.

“We’re out of the woods,” says Yuuri, and Victor knows he does not mean the forest they just left behind.

He lets out a breath, suddenly and unexpectedly winded. “I hope so,” he says. Yuuri smiles at him, and Victor finds he has the strength to smile back.

* * * * *

The town they’ve come to is near the Alps, a couple hours’ travel outside of Grenoble, smaller and more provincial than Paris, where they would usually go. As they walk into town, Yuuri glances around, a dubious expression on his face. “Why here?” he asks.

Victor laughs. “Well, first, because it’s less obvious than many other places we might go, and it’s also safe and quiet and has all the things we might need.” 

_That I would need for our play,_ he does not say, but perhaps Yuuri can read him anyway. Yuuri gives Victor a measured look, his dark eyes full of heat, cheeks pinkening slightly. “I hope we can take some time here, then,” is all he says, and Victor squeezes his hand.

“As for why this particular town… I had a project here that lasted almost five hundred years,” Victor says, as they pass the first outlying buildings and come to something resembling a real street. “There’s one particular family of tradesmen who’ve lived here for centuries, and they have a genius for woodworking that appears just once every generation. It took six lives of their kind to finish the furniture set I commissioned them for. I paid them dearly for it, I’ll have you know,” he adds.

It’s Yuuri’s turn to laugh at that. “Where is all this oh-so-important furniture now now?”

“In the house I own at the far end of this town,” says Victor. “Come, it’s less than thirty minutes’ walk.”

They stop twice en route. First, they make it as far as the city center before they’re lured into a patisserie by the smell of fresh bread and baking croissants. The shopkeep is pleasantly surprised by Victor’s excellent (albeit accented) French and gifts them with a decadent chocolate pastry to go with their sandwiches while they sit and eat their lunch by the window. Victor wonders what ethnicity he appears to a human, and then decides it does not matter.

After lunch, they stop a second time, this time for a bouquet of flowers: poppies, sunflowers, and lilies, blood-red and vibrant summer yellow. Victor watches Yuuri all but bury his face in the sweet-smelling blooms, eyes shut in contentment, and feels some of his own weariness lessen. 

The house itself is much less grandiose than Victor’s manor, though with six bedrooms it’s still too large to be called a vacation cottage. It’s slightly isolated at the end of the lane on which it sits, arrayed all around with shrubs and a handsome garden that would not look nearly as nice if not for the man Victor pays to tend it in his absence. It’s all lovely blonde wood and white walls, clean lines and large bay windows; its kitchen and bedrooms are a more inviting color palette than the aristocratic manse Victor called home in Hell. All in all, it’s a more modest abode than Victor’s other dwelling, but more than enough to suit their needs.

Victor watches Yuuri roam from room to room, looking for who knows what. He can sense an edge beneath Yuuri’s calm demeanor, a tension in his skin, and knows that the past two weeks have not been any kinder to Yuuri than they were to Victor. Victor thinks about asking after it, then decides against it. He can tell Yuuri is trying to pretend he’s fine—he might not even be aware of his own restlessness. What’s more, Victor knows already what’s wrong. It’s really just a question of how they’re going to deal with it.

Soon, Victor hopes, they’ll be able to put that behind them. This house might be small by Victor’s standards, but unlike most houses in the area (one presumes), it does have a fully equipped play room. Victor supposes one of the humans here might call it a sex dungeon, but he dislikes the idea of associating a place of imprisonment and fear with the kind of play he loves to do with Yuuri.

Not today, though. What is it the humans say? “The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak,” Victor murmurs.

He’s standing in the kitchen, watching Yuuri trim the flower stems of the bouquet they bought. He snips each one delicately, then tucks them into a vase he found under the cupboard below the sink. 

Yuuri glances up at Victor’s soft utterance, an eyebrow raised. “I was there when the priest wrote those words, you know,” he says. “I’m not sure if that aspect of divinity applies here.” His voice is light, but Victor can hear the soft concern under the comment. 

“If I find value or worth in something divine, it’s you,” says Victor. Yuuri turns red and mutters something under his breath as he turns back to arranging the flowers; Victor comes up behind him, sliding his arms around Yuuri’s waist and burying his face in Yuuri’s hair. He nuzzles in close, savoring Yuuri’s scent and sweet warmth, grateful that they finally have some time.

They do nothing at all for almost two days. That is to say, they wander the streets of the town, quiet and keeping mostly to themselves; they visit the public gardens, kept by the same retired gardener Victor hired to keep his own house’s flowers. The man—a talented gentleman who used to work the gardens of Versailles—lovingly tells them the name of every single plant, flower, and tree in his gardens, all in thick French that they would have not a hope of understanding if not for their infernal and divine natures.

They visit the patisserie, befriending the apparently quite soft-hearted owner. She bestows a pastry upon them almost every time they come, despite Yuuri’s protests to let them pay her. 

They sleep, wrapped around each other in the plush king-sized bed in Victor’s house; they fuck in the bed too, but nothing kinkier than a few bite marks here and there. The playroom sits unused, and if Yuuri wonders why Victor has not put him in chains and wrung screams of pleasure from him yet, he does not ask.

Victor wakes once in the middle of the night to find Yuuri not in bed with him. He shuffles out into the living room to find Yuuri sitting on the floor, hunched over something in his lap that Victor can’t quite see. “Yuuri?” Victor asks, groggy.

Yuuri looks up at him, and smiles. It’s soft, fond, no artifice in it at all. “Go back to sleep, Victor,” he says. “I’ll be back in a little bit, I’m just working on something.”

Victor considers asking what it is, then decides he’ll wait until Yuuri is ready to tell him himself. “Alright,” he says, and then turns and shuffles back to bed. He’s asleep in five minutes, despite the lack of the warm body in bed next to him. And when he wakes in the morning, Yuuri is curled against his chest again, one leg slung over Victor’s hip like Yuuri’s trying to ride him side-saddle. 

The warmth of his body against Victor’s is no more or less pleasant than it’s been since they were reunited once more in Heaven, but here in the morning quiet of their bedroom, it awakens something more in him. Victor turns over, tipping Yuuri onto his back and crawling on top of him, hedging him in with his knees on either side of Yuuri’s hips. He kisses Yuuri slowly, swallowing Yuuri’s drowsy noises as his lover comes awake beneath him. 

“Victor,” Yuuri mumbles, arching slightly off the bed as he warms to Victor’s kisses.

By way of response, Victor bites at Yuuri’s soft lips, then kisses him harder. “ _Master,_ ” he growls, his voice full of gravel. Yuuri’s eyes fly open.

“Master,” he breathes, and the eagerness there is both a balm for his soul and a match to the flame in Victor’s stomach.

Victor slides his hands up Yuuri’s arms, pinning Yuuri’s wrists next to his pillow. “I want to have you today,” he murmurs, nuzzling against Yuuri’s face. Yuuri lets his eyelids fall half-shut, their faint flutter against Victor’s skin a delicious tease. “Can I do that? Yuuri, please.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Yuuri groans, and it goes right to Victor’s dick. “Victor, I’ve been hoping you would ask…”

Victor groans too, and he presses himself down against Yuuri even as his lover rolls eagerly up against him. They grind against each other in the bed, and it’s all Victor can do to even find words. “I’m so sorry for making you wait, my darling,” he manages, in between eager kisses. “I’ll take you apart—”

“Please,” Yuuri cuts in, desperate, “Master, _please_ —”

They end up fucking right there in bed, rough and needy, Yuuri screaming his pleasure into the pillow as Victor takes him from behind. It’s just as well; the kind of scene they want to do will take some hours of preparation, and it won’t do to be too desperate to think it through while Victor is getting everything ready. 

This, Victor thinks, will be just what they need.

* * * * *

It’s been three days since they arrived in France, and to say Yuuri is itching for a scene would be putting it mildly.

To be sure, a huge part of why he wants it is that he knows it will put Victor at ease: knows that regaining control in such a visceral way will reinvigorate him, resolidify their bond. (Not that Yuuri is at all in doubt about any of his choices, but, well—it’s been a rough couple of weeks.)

But Yuuri also has an itch he can’t quite scratch. He’s been having trouble figuring out what it is, but it isn’t until Victor decides he’d rather do all the prep himself and suggests Yuuri go get pastries to eat later that Yuuri has time to figure out what it is. It’s as he’s wandering down the town’s high street, admiring the beautiful sprays of flowers in the florist’s and listening to the sounds of humans chatting over coffee, that he finally realizes what’s wrong. 

Yuuri’s still in the mindset of a seraphim guardian. From the minute he laid eyes on his lover looking so devastated and hurt—no, since he realized his very presence in Hell would spell danger for Victor, when he had to face down an army on his beloved’s behalf—he’s been fully prepared to wade into battle. And it hasn’t stopped. There’s a thorn in the back of his mind, a belligerent part of himself that’s ready to dig in, to raise sword and shield, to stand firm against all comers. 

That stubbornness is what makes him strong, he knows; it’ll always be a part of him, no matter how long he’s gone from Heaven or where they make their home. But with everyone going on, he’s been keeping a wall up, one he wants to bring down so that there’s nothing between him and Victor again. 

Victor will know what to do, Yuuri thinks. Yuuri wants to lay down his arms and be Victor’s in body and soul again. The idea is so powerfully alluring that he has to stop in the middle of the street and shut his eyes for a moment. 

Afterwards, he goes into their favorite cafe and drinks a strong cup of coffee. It doesn’t have the same effect on him as it would a human, but he likes the sharp, mind-clearing flavor and the ritual of drinking it. Then he walks home, stopping just once at the patisserie to buy some muffins and pastries. He deposits his purchases in the kitchen before retreating to the bedroom to sleep until Victor is ready for him.

When Victor shakes him awake some two hours later, Yuuri is drowsy, groggy. He sits up, holding out his arms automatically, and Victor pulls him into his lap, kissing him slowly awake. 

“I’m ready whenyouare,” Yuuri half-slurs into his lover’s mouth. Victor laughs, stroking his hair. 

“We need to talk about it first,” Victor murmurs. “I need to be sure you’re alright with everything.” 

That perks Yuuri up. Victor has always been careful with him, of course, but the longer they played together and the more familiar with each other’s limits and strengths they became, the less time they would spend up front before individual scenes talking every single thing out. Victor would usually list the things he planned to do—no extra explanations would be needed beyond that. 

Yuuri puts on a robe and then follows Victor into the kitchen. He nibbles on one of the muffins he bought earlier while his lover sits close by and goes over the scene he wants to do with Yuuri. By the time Yuuri’s done eating, his drowsiness is totally gone, and he’s already squirming in his seat in anticipation, having happily agreed to everything Victor wants to do today.

Victor wasn’t kidding when he said he wanted to take Yuuri apart. They haven’t done a scene this hard in almost two months; Yuuri is just glad Victor decided to take Yuuri at his word and actually go for what will really make him happy.

It’s just lucky that what Victor wants will also scratch that itch inside Yuuri as well. 

The two of them wash up together in the massive walk-in shower the chateau has. Yuuri was only separated from Victor for a week and a half, but the possibility of that separation being forever hanging over his head made it feel like much, much longer. The bathing takes much longer than strictly necessary—there’s a lot of kissing and fondling, a situation that ends with Yuuri pressed up against the wall with Victor jerking him off and two fingers in Yuuri’s ass as Yuuri comes—and then finally they’re clean and heading into the play room.

The play room at this particular location is not quite as lush or decadent as the one at Victor’s manor house in Hell, but it’ll more than serve their purposes. It’s a large, spacious room, more than roomy enough to accommodate the multiple racks of toys, the St. Andrew’s Cross, the bed, the spanking bench, and a half-dozen other specialized pieces of furniture. 

“Alright, Yuuri,” says Victor. “I’m going to walk out of the room, and when I come back in, we’ll start. Okay?”

He crouches in front of Yuuri, who is now naked except for his collar, kissing him slowly and stroking his hair. Yuuri hugs Victor tightly, then kneels back as his lover stands up again and walks briskly out of the room. Yuuri shuts his eyes and arranges himself in Victor’s preferred presentation: on his knees with his ass in the air and his forehead touching the floor, hands held out in front of him and crossed at the wrists. 

It’s a very vulnerable pose, one that emphasizes the long line of his back, and exposes his backside and genitals. Yuuri is very aware of his half-hard cock hanging stiffly between his thighs, of the warmth pumping from the vents in the room—Victor turned up the temperature so Yuuri won’t get cold—of the faint sound of birdsong from somewhere outside, of the late afternoon sunshine coming in through the western-facing window. 

Some time passes; Yuuri isn’t sure how long. He tries not to think too hard, or to strain himself listening for tell-tale sounds from the next room over (the bedroom). Instead, he focuses on the air moving in and out of his lungs, and on the pleasant burn in the back of his thighs at holding this position. 

It’s hard, much harder than he’d like, doing this. When they were down in Hell, Yuuri had already been long enough from the fields of Heaven that putting his former role out of his mind had been all too easy. But after the past two weeks, Yuuri is finding it much more difficult to drop into the headspace he wants to be for this. The thorn in the back of his mind is sharp, difficult to dislodge, and he can’t quite untense all the way. 

Finally, there comes the sharp click of Victor’s lacquered shoes on the tile floor. Yuuri’s heart speeds up in his chest. He forces himself to keep focusing on his breathing, on the slow drag of air in and out of his lungs. 

“There’s my sweet boy,” says Victor. The approval in his voice goes right to Yuuri’s face; he can feel his cheeks flaming already. “Sit up for me, Yuuri. Look at me.”

“Yes, Master,” says Yuuri, and sits up. Now that he’s been given permission, he indulges greedily in staring at Victor. His lover already looks much different from his casual appearance of the past week or so: he’s dressed in one of his sharpest suits, a narrowly-cut one that emphasizes his height. It gives him a lean, dangerous look, matching well with the expression on his face. 

Victor is looking at Yuuri like Yuuri is a small bird and Victor is the cat that’s going to eat him alive. 

“Crawl to me, sweet thing,” croons Victor. Yuuri shivers and does his best to comply. He shifts forward, moving on hands and knees as he crosses the room to his lover. Victor reaches down to stroke his face with one hand in greeting when Yuuri stops in front of him.

Something must show in his body language, though, because Victor doesn’t say anything immediately. He peers into Yuuri’s face as if searching for something. “Is something wrong, boy?” he asks. The question is gentle, instead of intimidating.

Yuuri winces internally, tries not to grit his teeth. “It’s—it’s hard to put down my sword, Master,” he says, half-apology, half still that unwanted tension.

Victor’s expression clears. “I see,” he says, and pets Yuuri’s hair. “Do you need some extra help today, then?”

Yuuri lets out a shaky breath. “Please, Master,” he whispers.

“That’s my good boy,” Victor murmurs. “Alright. I’ll help you get there, my darling.” He leans down to kiss Yuuri’s temple; Yuuri lets his eyes slide half-shut, nuzzling into Victor’s hand. But the tenderness only lasts a moment. The hand petting Yuuri’s hair stills before fingers slide carefully through Yuuri’s shag. Victor gets a grip and then tugs sharply enough to make Yuuri’s eyes water. 

“I was wondering if you’d have some trouble, too,” Victor says. His voice is low, a little dangerous; a knife blade wrapped in velvet. “This will be good for both of us, then.” 

“Yes, Master,” says Yuuri. He bites his lip, his heart rate kicking up a little more.

He’s expecting Victor to fuck him then—or make Yuuri suck him, or something—but instead, Victor leaves him briefly where as kneels on the floor. Victor returns in moments with a long length of thick red silken rope, and orders Yuuri to hold still while Victor sets about tying him up in an intricate pattern of rope and knots.

“My boy is having trouble remembering his place today,” Victor says. It’s pleasant, conversational. It means he’s going to make Yuuri squirm, beg, go absolutely crazy. It’s exactly what Yuuri wants, and yet he can almost _feel_ himself digging his heels in against it. 

Maybe that’s why, once Victor has him suspended from sturdy hooks in the ceiling, he just leaves Yuuri there. Yuuri strains against the ropes that bind him, holding his arms pinned behind his back and his legs folded so that his ankles are tied to his thighs, which are spread wide to display his ass in red rope. Victor ignores him utterly, instead going across the room to start perusing the toys stored here. 

It’s unbearable. Being forced to dangle here and squirm like a toy on display rubs Yuuri exactly the wrong way. Which is almost certainly why Victor did it, but that’s cold comfort at the moment, when this thorn is digging into the back of his mind and making him want to scream and set something on fire and wreck half the room in his frustration.

“Victor,” Yuuri huffs out, deliberately breaking role. “What are you _doing_.” 

Victor glances over at him, cool and unruffled as Yuuri is aggravated. “Did you ask me a question, boy?”

Yuuri grinds his teeth, the friction like sandpaper inside his brain. “You can’t just leave me here,” he whines. 

“Strange,” Victor notes. “That seems like exactly what I’m doing. And as you seem to have forgotten, I can do whatever I want, darling pet.”

Yuuri flexes, arching against the ropes again. If he really wanted to, he could easily snap his bonds; he’s not human, after all. But what Yuuri really wants is for Victor to come back over here and—and _do something_. Hurt him, hit him, make him cry, not just leave him to dangle and stew in his own agitation. 

Instead, Victor sets about meticulously cleaning all of the toys in the cabinet, and utterly ignores Yuuri’s increasing irritation. Later, Yuuri will discover that it was a mere thirty minutes that passed before Victor stood up and returned to Yuuri—far less time than he’s left Yuuri in shibari before. But it feels like hours and hours. Yuuri is almost crying in frustration by the time Victor finally gets up from his maintenance and walks back over to him, boots clicking smartly on the floor.

“Finally,” Yuuri mutters, squirming in anticipation as Victor gets closer. Victor slides a hand in Yuuri’s hair again, but it isn’t the rough jerk Yuuri’s expecting. 

In fact, it’s the very last thing Yuuri’s expecting. “Yuuri,” Victor says in a low voice. “Do you need to stop?”

“Wh—” Yuuri stares at Victor, feeling a bit like he’s been kicked in the stomach. “No! Why?”

“Tell me why I left you hanging in shibari, sweet thing.” Victor strokes his hand down Yuuri’s back along his spine, moving lightly over the criss-cross of rope that holds him secure. 

Yuuri swallows. “To wind me up,” he says. “To put me in my place.” But even as the words leave his mouth he already knows it was the wrong thing to say.

Sure enough, Victor shakes his head. “To help you get into the right mindset,” he says gently, still petting Yuuri as though he’s a spooked animal. “To help you remember that I’m here to catch you and support you, not for you to fight against.”

For a few moments, Yuuri is utterly stricken, lost for words. He hasn’t even done anything yet, and already he’s messed up so badly he’s on the verge of making Victor end their scene. “I’m sorry,” he says stupidly. “I didn’t mean to, I just—Master, I—”

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Victor says, and kisses him before Yuuri can protest more or break down into tears. Yuuri sniffles a little anyway, kissing back, arching against the ropes holding him as he tries to get a little closer to Victor. “It’s hard for me, too. I know it seems like it should be easy, but that doesn’t make it so.”

“I don’t want to stop,” Yuuri says, and hates himself for the way his voice breaks a little. He didn’t want to make this scene about him again, and yet here he is, ruining everything again. “Master, I’m sorry, I, I…”

Victor cups his face in both hands, pressing their foreheads together. The warmth of his allure rolls over Yuuri in a wave, thick and reassuring; Yuuri finds he’s able to take a few breaths, to relax against Victor’s hands. “Tell me what you need,” he murmurs.

“This is supposed to be about what _you_ need,” Yuuri says. 

“What I need is to take care of my boy,” says Victor. “I want to be the one you fall apart for, darling. So let me help you do that.”

Yuuri takes a deep breath and lets it out slow. He keeps his eyes shut, leaning into Victor, leaning into the ropes, and tries to think his way around that ugly thorn that’s digging into him so cruelly. 

“I need to shut my brain off,” Yuuri says finally. “I want to be yours again, but it’s so hard to let my guard down.”

“If I hurt you, will it help?” Victor slides one of his arms around Yuuri’s waist, just under his bound arms. “Or will it make it worse?”

Yuuri sucks in a breath. “Help, I think,” he says, and when he goes to hide his face in Victor’s neck, Victor lets him. “Please hurt me. Make it so I don’t have to keep—keep fighting you.” 

Victor kisses the corner of his mouth and murmurs, “Okay, sweet thing.” 

He wastes no time, petting Yuuri’s hair a moment longer before walking over to the wall of toys. Yuuri expects him to get a knife immediately, but instead he grabs one of the elegant glass plugs, a medium-sized one made of smoky purple. Victor comes back to Yuuri with the plug and a tube of lube, and spends the next ten minutes kissing Yuuri and working Yuuri’s ass open with his fingers, readying him for the plug. 

Yuuri could probably have handled the plug without much prep—he’s still pliable from Victor fingering him in the shower—but Victor seems to know that he still needs those few minutes of touch and warmth. It won’t drop him down to where he wants to go, but it’ll help pull him back from that frustrated knot he’s twisted himself up in. 

And Victor knows just what to do. His kisses are sweet, drugging things, his allure wrapping around Yuuri and swaddling him in a sense of ease and acceptance, and he knows just how to use his fingers, just how to twist to make Yuuri gasp and arch into his chest. Finally Victor eases the plug into his ass, Yuuri’s breath hitching against Victor’s lips as the length slips fully into him. Victor presses against the base to make sure it’s settled, and then kisses Yuuri once more before stepping back. 

He gets a sharp knife from the cabinets full of toys and sets about cutting Yuuri down from the shibari—unbinding his legs first, massaging each of his ankles before easing Yuuri down to touch a foot to the floor. When Yuuri’s finally freed, Victor makes him drink a bit of water before leading him over the St. Andrew’s Cross set against the far wall. Yuuri’s movements are a little awkward from having been suspended for so long, as well as the plug in his ass that he’s all too aware of, but for all the discomfort he’s still happier to be doing what Victor wants than he was before.

This St. Andrew’s Cross is a particularly large, imposing-looking example of the type, all black metal and dark leather straps. The cuffs that dangle from the chains are padded, though, as are all the spots that Yuuri will lean against once he’s held in place. Victor carefully attaches each wrist restraint, checking the tightness to make sure it won’t chafe or be too loose. 

“I’m going to start slow, darling,” Victor murmurs to him. He leans close to Yuuri from behind, his chest pressed to Yuuri’s back.

Yuuri shuts his eyes, soaking in the feel of Victor against him. “Yes, Master,” he says. It’s still hard to say, but the aggravation beneath his skin has lessened some. 

“Good boy,” Victor says softly, and Yuuri sighs. 

Then Victor vanishes, leaving Yuuri alone for a handful of moments. Yuuri is facing the cross, his wrists restrained above him, his ankles held securely at the base of the cross—wide enough for good support, but held in place in case his feet or knees buckle. This leaves his back and ass exposed, all the better for Victor to mark him up and make him scream. 

_Please_ , he thinks. The thorn is still there, still goring him, but the promise of the sweet pain Victor’s going to give him is enough to quicken his pulse, make him glad instead of irritated. _I want to be yours, I want to be nothing but your creature._

He hears Victor go to one of the cabinets, the creak of a door opening as Victor selects something Yuuri can’t see. Yuuri tries to guess what Victor will go for first—a flogger? A cane? Maybe just a paddle?—and then decides it’s better that he doesn’t know. Better to try to lean into it and stop trying to control everything from beneath. 

“Alright, sweetheart,” says Victor, from behind him. Yuuri’s eyelids flutter as there’s a soft touch at his back; Victor’s running a hand down his spine, like Yuuri is a skittish colt he needs to reassure. “Remember to breathe for me.”

“Yes, Master,” says Yuuri. He hears Victor step back, and then there’s a few moments of anticipation. Yuuri takes a deep breath, trying not to tense up. 

He hears the swish of leather through air a split-second before the tails land on his back, and he yelps in reaction despite the fact the blow is quite gentle. “That’s it,” says Victor, encouraging, and Yuuri sighs.

Victor sets up a slow, steady rhythm—just to get him warmed up, Yuuri knows. He thinks, from the feel, that it’s one of the softer floggers, maybe the deerskin one. Victor takes it easy to start with, landing blows in an alternating pattern like a figure eight on Yuuri’s flanks: soft, soft, barely there, now harder, now just hard enough to make Yuuri gasp, now soft again. Every now and then he’ll do something wicked with his wrist and flick the tails of the flogger at Yuuri’s ass, just hard enough to make Yuuri yelp.

It’s wonderful. Slow enough at the start to not overwhelm, then expertly ramping up in intensity, with all the hallmarks of Victor’s skill with toys and pain-play on display. 

Yuuri’s agitation starts to—not disappear, exactly, but dampen, recede in importance next to the sensations overtaking his body. Heat blooms in his skin and muscle, spreading through his flank until his nerves feel tingly and just this side of too sensitive. Yuuri finds himself squirming eagerly against the cross, grateful for the cuffs that hold him in place so he can react without fear of making Victor miss his mark.

Victor starts to go a little harder, flogging him sharply enough that there will be welts later. Yuuri’s toes curl as the leather tails lick across his back, drawing an arc of white pain that sinks immediately into his skin. Yuuri’s panting softly, faintly aware of his own arousal, of his wrists and ankles in the cuff, but what he’s most aware of is the fire in his skin.

Abruptly the rain of blows stops. Yuuri’s stomach tries to drop into his feet—has he messed up again? “Master,” he says. The urge to snarl comes back, just a little, but he skirts wide of it.

“So eager,” says Victor from behind him. His voice is warm; Yuuri settles slightly, the angry fear lessening. “Don’t worry, we aren’t stopping. I’m just switching to something new. Are you ready for more?”

Yuuri shivers. His cock is hard and already dripping, he notices; he wonders when that happened. “Yes, Master, please,” he responds, and is happy when it’s easier to get the words out this time. 

“Good boy,” says Victor. The approval in his voice slides over Yuuri’s skin like a physical thing, wholly independent from his lover’s demonic allure. He’s getting closer to where he wants to be, where all of Victor’s orders and praise are welcome things, instead of just barely making him balk. “Now, just remember to keep breathing, Yuuri.” So saying, Yuuri hears Victor take a step back.

That’s all the warning he gets before something hard and heavy lands across his ass. Yuuri _screams_ , rocking forward slightly against the cross. The paddle feels _huge_ , massive and somehow dense, like Victor hit him with not just the inch-thick piece of polished blonde wood he showed Yuuri earlier but an actual wall. Heat blooms in the wake of that blow, deep and wicked; Yuuri feels tears spring to his eyes as the sensation lights him up inside.

He hears the whistle of wood through air milliseconds before the next blow, faster and harder than the first; it lands slightly lower across his ass, forcing a hungry groan from Yuuri. He doesn’t even get a moment to breathe before Victor wallops him a third time. Yuuri goes right up on his toes, gasping at the wide burn of it, and oh, _oh_ it hurts so deeply, so good, like he’s being turned inside out. 

Again, and again, Victor lays into him with the paddle, all over his ass and down along his spread thighs. Yuuri is sobbing before too long, jerking reflexively against his restraints with every blow Victor lands, layer on layer of pain and heat and aching pleasure. Victor lays down some strikes on top of others, lighting up a pattern behind Yuuri’s eyes that he can’t comprehend, doesn’t need to understand so long as Victor keeps giving it to him. 

“Master,” he gets out. He hardly recognizes the sound of his own voice, so shaky and hoarse. “Oh, M-Master, please—ah, ahhhhh…”

“Please what, sweet thing?” Victor’s voice has dropped, sharp and hungry in Yuuri’s ears like he’s about to take a bite. “Tell me what you need.”

Yuuri sucks in a breath; just that much movement makes every muscle in his body throb. “Please hurt me more, Master—”

Victor’s on him in moments, pressing him against him from behind. Yuuri cries out as Victor’s trousers rub against his raw, abraded skin; the cry turns into a moan as Victor pushes Yuuri against the cross, traps him between padded metal and Victor’s own warm body. Faintly, Yuuri is aware that he can _feel_ Victor—his lover’s allure is stronger now than Yuuri’s felt in months, like Victor is practically singing with power and energy. 

“You’re so beautiful when you beg, darling,” Victor breathes into his ear. “So intoxicating, I can’t even believe how gorgeous you are when you scream for me to hurt you. My perfect little angel…” 

He rubs deliberately against Yuuri, dragging the expensive fabric of his suit against Yuuri’s abused skin. One of his hands sneaks around Yuuri’s front, pinching one of Yuuri’s nipples hard between his fingers, drawing a sharp sob from Yuuri. Every small movement Victor makes against him sends pain flaring in Yuuri’s back and ass and thighs, and Yuuri is dizzy with it, drunk on it, desperate for more. 

“You’re so hard for me,” Victor purrs. His hand wanders lower, wrapping around Yuuri’s cock for a brief moment. “You love this so much, I can’t even believe how much you like it, I’m so, so lucky.” 

“I love it,” Yuuri tells him, the words coming out of him in a rush. The thorn in his mind is gone, and in its place is pain and want and euphoria, and a deep aching love for the one giving all of this to him. “Master, please, I l-love it, need it, need you, hurt me more, please, _please_ —”

Victor turns Yuuri’s head towards him with one hand and kisses him hard, cutting off his babbling. Yuuri moans into his mouth, tears still leaking down his cheeks, dripping off his chin even as Victor’s tongue presses into Yuuri’s mouth. Victor grinds against Yuuri’s sore ass, his erection hard and teasing through his trousers; it bumps up against the plug still in Yuuri’s ass, making him whine against Victor’s mouth. 

Victor pulls back with a groan, his eyes dark and feverish. “I’ll give you just what you need, sweet thing,” he says roughly. “And I want you to come for me, as soon as you can, while I hurt you. Can you do that?”

The answer is as easy as breathing. “Yes Master,” Yuuri says. “A-Anything.” He notices now that Victor’s horns have appeared, sharp and almost glittering as they sweep back from his head. 

“Good boy,” says Victor, and kisses him hard one last time. Then he pulls away, leaving Yuuri bereft and aching on the cross. Yuuri lets himself sag against the wood, still sniffling and trembling, tears still leaking down his face. He gets lost for a moment in the play of pain and heat all through his back and ass and thighs; the pattern of marks Victor laid down feel like his skin has turned into something else altogether, made of nerves and warmth and desperate want. 

Yuuri hears the sound of movement behind him—Victor’s boot heels clicking on the wood—and then a sound like a dozen snakes slithering fast across the floor. It takes exactly three seconds for Yuuri to identify the sound, and his reaction leaves him in a shaky moan of anticipation. “Oh, Master…” 

“That’s right, darling,” Victor purrs. The hissing cuts off at once as he draws the toy back up off the floor. There’s a swish of many tongues in the air a split-second before they hit Yuuri’s back, and Yuuri lets out a sharp scream, his cock throbbing sympathetically. 

The cat o’nine tails—the cat, as Victor affectionately calls it—is Yuuri’s favorite toy in the whole world. It’s heavy and sharp at the same time, and its bite is cruel, exactly the way Yuuri likes it when he’s this far down for Victor during their play. It feels like a thick blanket hitting his back, laid in with tiny thorns. 

Victor lets the tails slide over Yuuri’s back before he draws it back, cat claws scraping over abused skin, and Yuuri gives a long ragged moan at the way it lights him up. The next blow hits harder, faster—the sound arrives at almost the exact moment the tails hit him, hard enough that Yuuri’s tongue cleaves to the roof of his mouth, no sound coming out at all. 

Gone is the misery at being separated from Victor, the anxiety of wondering if they’ll ever be allowed to be together unmolested. Gone is the long, exhausting grind of traveling out of Heaven to Hell, stopped at every turn, made painfully aware of how unwelcome they are. Gone is the terrible burr in the back of his mind, the one that tells him he can never lay down his arms, can never rest, can never stop fighting. 

All of that is swept away. All that remains is the bright, hot pain Victor is giving to him, and the joy of being totally and completely cared for, held, safe, wanted. 

The cat lands again, huge and heavy against his lower back. Some of the tails cut across his ass, and Yuuri lets out a choked noise, fresh tears spurting down his cheeks in shock and _want_. His nerves are on fire, his skin pulsing with want, like Victor is transforming him into something that needs pain like air, like nothing will satisfy him except this huge hurt. His cock seems to throb in time with his whole body. Victor strikes his back, tails landing over welts from the deerskin flogger, and Yuuri’s strength gives out as he screams; he would collapse if he weren’t held in place in restraints, pinned in place like a butterfly. 

“Please, please, please,” Yuuri babbles, half-coherent, hardly aware he’s saying words. “Master, please, p—AHH!” 

Instead of replying, Victor hits him again—and again, and again, in sharp succession. Yuuri’s words vanish, replaced by screams and moans as he sinks completely into the pain laid over his ass, his back, his thighs. The tails come down hard over his ass, and Yuuri’s body seizes up all at once, muscles bunching and back arching as he comes _hard_ , untouched. 

It seems to go on forever, though it’s probably only a moment or two. Yuuri sags again, sobbing into his arm as he collapses against the cross, trembling in reaction. Vaguely, he hears the clatter of something against the floor, and moments later Victor’s hands are on him, Victor’s kissing the back of his neck.

“You’re so good for me, sweet boy,” Victor says in his ear. His voice is hoarse, ragged; he sounds almost as wrecked as Yuuri feels, which makes Yuuri very happy. He keeps talking, even as there’s the rustling of fabric, though Yuuri is too blasted to have any idea what his lover is doing. It doesn’t matter. Whatever Victor wants, Yuuri will gladly give it. “You’re perfect, my angel, my darling—ahhh…” 

Victor lets out a rough groan, and moments later Yuuri’s back stings as something wet and salty sprays over some of his welts; it takes him a few moments to realize Victor has just come on his ass and lower back. He groans as the thought forms in his mind, fresh tears of satisfaction welling up at the mental image of his lover’s seed on his welted skin. 

“My good boy,” Victor murmurs. He nuzzles against Yuuri’s throat, and Yuuri tries weakly to turn his head and return the affection, but at the moment he’s too exhausted, too fragile. “Shh, let’s get you down from there.” 

He undoes Yuuri’s ankles first, then slides an arm around Yuuri’s waist to keep him supported as he undoes each of Yuuri’s wrists in turn. Yuuri sags gratefully against Victor, whimpering at the rub of fabric against his abused back, but he’s still so far down that it’s mostly overstimulation instead of being unpleasant. In other circumstances, Victor would have stopped while Yuuri could still more or less walk himself, but that wasn’t quite enough for either of them today. 

So Victor carries Yuuri out of the play room and into their bedroom. Yuuri sighs as Victor lays him out on the bed, tipping him over onto his stomach, his touch as loving as the bite of the cat was harsh.

Yuuri drifts pleasantly for a little while. Victor has always been more gentle and loving than any of Yuuri’s kin would ever give a demon credit for; he’s that way now, tenderly cleaning Yuuri’s back with a soft, wet cloth before settling onto the bed next to him. Then he begins the meticulous, lengthy task of smoothing lotion onto Yuuri’s welts. 

Yuuri whines in pleasure at Victor’s touch, his eyes heavy-lidded. He’s floating, now, completely at ease, still riding the high of their scene. “Master,” he sighs, and lifts his head hopefully.

Victor leans over to grant him the kiss he’s seeking, running fingers gently through Yuuri’s hair. “How are you feeling, darling?” he asks, once he finally breaks away.

“I feel wonderful,” Yuuri says, and means it. He’ll be sore later, he knows, but right now later doesn’t actually exist. Nothing exists except the two of them, now, here in this bed together. “I feel _amazing._ ”

Victor’s expression warms; he nuzzles against Yuuri, cradling Yuuri’s head in his hand. “I’m glad, sweet thing,” he murmurs. “You were perfect. You were everything I needed, all I could ever want. You made Master very happy.”

Yuuri sighs, warmth flooding him at the praise that has nothing to do with his still-throbbing welts. “I love you,” he says dreamily.

“I love you too,” says Victor, and seals it with another kiss.

It’s the last thing Yuuri remembers clearly before Victor returns to his ministrations of Yuuri’s back. Shortly after that, Yuuri drifts off. His last memory is of Victor humming to himself, getting rubbing lotion into Yuuri’s sore ass, and thinking to himself, _you are worth every trial we went through_. Then he simply passes out.

* * * * *

Victor takes a long time to finish coming down from their scene—much longer than Yuuri, who passes out a record ten minutes after Victor lays him down in the bed. Yuuri has always had the tendency to simply fall asleep after particularly rough sex or an intense scene, which Victor finds very endearing, but usually they have enough time to decompress after a scene before sleep takes him.

Not this time, though. And Victor is fine with it; he and Yuuri have only ever gone this hard before just once or twice, and neither was after such a stressful time as what they’ve just been through. Victor takes his time tending to Yuuri’s abraded skin, as much because he needs the time with his hands on Yuuri’s bare skin as because he knows it’ll help Yuuri heal better.

(Yuuri makes the most lovely, happy noises as Victor massages his sore and abused backside—a tenor that only changes when Victor attempts to coax the plug out that’s still in Yuuri’s ass. Yuuri protests loudly, actually shying away from Victor, whining about how he wants to keep it in, so much so that Victor eventually relents.

Victor knows for a fact that Yuuri is actually asleep, no matter how coherent he sounds; if Victor asks him about it later, he’ll have zero recollection of Victor’s ministrations, or the whining about leaving the plug in. But it’s still incredibly cute.)

Once Victor’s finally done, he strips off his shirt and suit pants and climbs into bed next to Yuuri, tugging his boy in to lay draped across his chest before pulling the covers up over them both. He doesn’t actually mean to fall asleep, but he does anyway, one arm draped loosely over Yuuri’s waist, Yuuri already drooling gently on his shoulder. 

He comes to some unknown amount of time later—it’s after sundown, at least—to find Yuuri nuzzling him. “I’m hungry,” Yuuri whines when he notices Victor is awake. Victor doubts his boy is still in subspace, but he’s always sweet and almost childishly needy in the wake of more intense play—something Victor’s more than happy to accommodate.

“Alright, alright,” Victor says, coming awake with a laugh. “You stay here, I’ll bring you something.” He drags himself to the kitchen to collect a lazy sort of picnic, returning with chocolates and some sliced cheese and bread. They make a mess eating on top of the covers, and then Victor finds himself so distracted by the beautiful pattern of welts and forming bruises on Yuuri’s back that he can’t help but pursue a different kind of dessert.

The plug Yuuri refused to let Victor take out earlier now becomes a blessing in disguise. Victor tucks a pillow under Yuuri’s hips and oh-so-teasingly pulls the plug out now, making it all the easier to just slide into Yuuri’s ass, already stretched and slicked for him. Yuuri whines and begs until Victor presses his chest down against Yuuri’s sore back, fucking him slow and messy against the bed. Yuuri is lightning in a bottle beneath him, shuddering and ecstatic with every thrust, every rub of Victor’s body against his raw skin. Victor fucks him through two orgasms before giving in to his own pleasure, harshing out a groan into Yuuri’s shoulder as he comes deep in Yuuri’s ass, pressed as flush against him as he can. 

Victor makes a Herculean effort to drag himself out of bed and retrieve another cloth to clean them up, but it’s all he can manage before crawling back into bed with Yuuri and giving up for the day. The dirty dishes stay on the nightstand, the used wet cloth flung on the floor in the vague direction of the bathroom—all of it can wait until morning. At least he managed earlier to collect the toys they used and clean them up.

He wraps around his beloved and falls into a deep, dreamless sleep, the kind he has needed for weeks and been unable to find. When he finally wakes, it’s mid-morning, cheerful sunlight slanting in through the eastern-facing windows. His bed is empty; Yuuri probably woke ravenous and went to get food, Victor thinks. 

He gets up and goes in search of his lover, pulling on a robe for now. He finds Yuuri in the living room, gazing out the window, in his own soft silken robe. At the sound of Victor’s footsteps, Yuuri turns and looks up at him with a smile.

“There you are,” he says, voice soft. “I was wondering when you might wake up.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be the one recovering?” Victor says teasingly. He’s about to ask if Yuuri’s eaten yet, then notices that Yuuri’s holding something in his hands.

Yuuri smiles, noticing Victor’s gaze. “I was, but I wanted to finish these,” he says, and holds out his palm to show Victor the pair of white-gold rings sitting there. 

Victor abruptly finds he can’t talk. He has to fight to take a breath, something hot and tight in his throat he can’t get past, can’t see around. 

“You made these?” he finally manages, with an effort. His voice quavers; his hand comes to his chest, as if to try to save his poor heart from beating right out through his ribs. 

“Yes,” Yuuri says. He looks up at Victor, his expression soft. “It’s made from a melted-down medal I received for meritorious conduct just before I left. And after everything you went through to find me, to be with me, I wanted to—to give you something to show you that… Whatever comes now, we’ll face it together.”

Victor’s heart lurches. He tries to draw another breath, and makes a strained noise instead, his eyes burning. Yuuri takes his hand, and oh-so-gently slides one of the beautiful shining rings onto Victor’s fourth finger. Victor has to fight to find the coordination to return the gesture, sliding the matching ring onto Yuuri’s hand, and then his vision blurs too badly to see anything for a few moments. 

When Yuuri’s pulled back from their embrace, smiling up at him with his arms still around Victor’s waist, Victor manages to collect himself a little. He smiles back, wiping away some wetness gathering at the corners of his eyes. The ring on his finger glints, catching a bit of morning sunlight in its shining depths. 

“Your fellows back in Heaven can think what they wish,” Victor says. “But of all of them, I am the one most truly blessed.” Yuuri kisses him, and they stand there for a long time, their arms around each other, drinking in the quiet of the morning and the warmth of each other.

Victor no longer knows what life will bring him—if he ever truly did. The future is more uncertain now than it ever was, but also a thousand times brighter and more full of life than he once would have believed possible. And so long as he has Yuuri at his side, Victor thinks that the two of them will be able to weather whatever adversity comes their way.

* * * * *

There is a small town in the foothills of the Alps, near the border between France and Italy, that has a rare set of local legends. One old man in particular who has lived there all his life is always more than happy to share the stories to anyone willing to listen.

If asked, the old man will lead any willing listeners to a building on the outskirts of town—if “building” can be properly used to describe the stone-and-wood manor house. With its high, graceful windows and the elegant gardens surrounding it, the place resembles a small cathedral, or the country home of some wealthy, old-blooded lord. 

“Sprang up overnight, it did,” the old man will insist—leaning on his cane, an expression on his face that says he knows he’s not likely to be believed. “One evening, this was just an empty field, the next day this house was just sitting here, an’ everyone acting like it’s been here all along, but it weren’t, no matter what folks in town say.”

He’ll go on to describe the two people supposedly living in the house, his expression growing animated as he warms to his tale. He’s not entirely clear if it’s always been these two— “one dark-haired, one light,” is how he usually tells it—or if the couple dwelling within are the descendants of the original owners, or some other variant, but it’s always two people, and they are always in love. This part the old man is quite emphatic about; he’ll go on about how he’s seen them walking hand-in-hand at twilight down the town’s streets, and how they wear matching golden rings on their hands. 

But the old man is not the only one with stories to tell. At the tavern in town, the curvy woman tending bar on weekend nights will tell visitors matter-of-factly that if they wish to be lucky in love, they’ll leave flowers and a heart-felt prayer to “whoever might be listening” at the fountain in the center of town. According to her, the flowers will mysteriously disappear, and the wish will be granted, so long as it was made in good faith.

Regulars at the bar have similar stories: how the town has been mysteriously free of any real affliction for almost a hundred years, beset by neither storm nor drought nor occupation during any of the many wars to plague Europe. How unlike many other small towns, the people who choose to live here seem mostly happy and lucky in their pursuits—‘blessed,’ says one man, nodding confidently over his drink. And how, most interesting of all, no one in this town has died of anything but natural causes in almost a century.

(This last can be confirmed by perusing the town’s public records, though strangely no one ever seems to think to do so. But it’s true: no one has perished of anything but old age in almost one hundred years. Not homicide, or heart attack, or starvation, or exposure, or even something as banal as pneumonia seems to be able to take hold of the people here. And strangest of all is that no one thinks to comment on it, save for stories spun for strangers in the tavern.)

Perhaps the most compelling story is one told by the owner of the flower shop, the one that stands at the corner of the main streets in the center of town. If asked, she’ll demur at first, and only tell her story if pressed by an adamant listener. 

The way she tells it is that anyone—anyone at all—can see the ones responsible for the town’s unusual good fortune, almost any day of the week. “They walk right down this street every day,” she says, gesturing out at the sidewalk outside. She won’t quite meet the eyes of the one who asks, as if she’s already resigned to not being believed, but the idea doesn’t seem to phase her. “They’re very nice; it’s just that mostly no one seems to notice them, or remember them at all, even though they live just at the end of town. And you almost wouldn’t notice unless you’re looking for it, but if you catch them on a very sunny day, you can see the one’s horns, and the other’s wings.” 

Why the florist can remember or see this is anyone’s guess. Perhaps it has something to do with the bouquet of flowers she keeps in a vase separate from the rest of her displays, the one that says “not for sale” on it—though it changes almost every day. But if you ask her that, she’ll just smile and say nothing more at all.

**Author's Note:**

> The fic's title comes from the sonata by Giuseppe Tartini, which is both beautiful & [has a very interesting story behind it](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Violin_Sonata_in_G_minor_\(Tartini\)).


End file.
